Lesser Evils
by Scott Press
Summary: Harry barely escaped the graveyard with his life. Changed by the experience, he faces new challenges and learns that power requires sacrifices. Revenge, doubly so. OotP AU, Crouch Sr. lives. (rewrite of a previously posted story)
1. Changes, Part 1

**Author's Note:** I'm not promising regular updates. I write for pleasure, so expect long breaks between chapters.

**Disclaimer: **It's big and it's at the top of my profile page.

**PROLOGUE: Changes**

**Part 1**

Voldemort's furious screams still rang in Harry's ears when he landed on wet grass. He gave into the exhaustion and unclenched the numb fingers, releasing his wand, the cup and Cedric.

Cedric…

_Another one dead because of me._

If his rebellious side wanted to argue, he was too tired to pay attention. That was when the haze on his mind cleared enough to let through noise and light. He was instantly deafened by the shouting and blinded by the cameras flashing.

Someone was shaking him.

"Harry!" a powerful voice said, closer than the others. "Harry, I cannot pretend to know what you've just gone through, but you must wake up and tell me what happened. What did you see?" the voice urged.

"Professor… Dumbledore?" Harry mumbled.

"Yes, Harry, it is me. Can you tell me what you saw?"

"Voldemort," Harry whispered with his eyes closed.

"Voldemort," Dumbledore repeated after him flatly. "He's returned?"

"Yes."

He couldn't tell if Dumbledore cast a spell on him. He only felt a wave of warmth and passed out.

~~oOo~~

Harry deliberately did not open his eyes when he awoke. He could hear voices, familiar voices talking, discussing what had happened during the Third Task.

"…delusional, Albus," someone was saying indignantly. It was a voice Harry knew, but couldn't quite place. "Again with your crazy theories about You-Know-Who. The man is dead! He can't have returned!"

"You heard yourself what Mr. Potter said yesterday," Albus Dumbledore answered. There was no mistaking that voice. "And I don't believe he was lying."

"I'm not saying he lied, Albus," the first voice argued. "But what he believes he saw isn't necessarily the truth! For all we know, he could have been… hallucinating!"

"Then who do you suppose was behind the kidnapping? I trust you will conduct a proper investigation. A student is dead."

There was a long pause. Harry suspected whoever Dumbledore was talking to had just been reminded of the seriousness of the situation.

"Yes, yes, it is very… unfortunate. I shall instruct Amelia to do whatever it takes to uncover the truth-"

"We already know who's responsible," Dumbledore interrupted gently. "I implore you to see reason. At least listen to what Mr. Potter has to say."

Harry opened his eyes and sat up on the bed, ignoring the pain in his muscles. For a moment he wondered what to say but when no words came to mind, he stayed silent.

Dumbledore looked at him with a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

"How long have you been awake, Harry?"

"A minute or two."

"Mr. Potter," the other man in the room greeted him with a small nod. "I am truly sorry… the security… well, clearly, there wasn't enough security."

Looking at him now, Harry recognized Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic.

"It wasn't your fault sir," he said. As much as he wanted to put the blame on someone, he didn't think the Minister was the right person.

"That's very generous of you, Mr Potter," the Minister said. "Now that you're awake, we can deal with… formalities. Yes…"

From his robes, he pulled out a bag full of Galleons and placed it on the nightstand.

"An official ceremony should be taking place, but under the circumstances… I'm sure you can understand. According to the sentries who were watching over the champions during the task, you and Mr. Diggory reached the cup together, but since he is… Well, you are the winner of the Tournament. And that's your reward. A thousand Galleons."

"I don't want it," Harry said immediately. "I don't deserve it. It should have been Cedric's. At least give it to his family."

"Don't be ridiculous, boy!" the Minister snapped. "You won, fair and square. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must really return to the Ministry. Someone has to sort out this mess…"

"Don't you even want to know what happened?" Harry asked.

"You may be called on as a witness in the investigation. Until then, keep your story. And please, don't spread any rumors about You-Know-Who returning, the chaos has already gotten far too out of hand."

"I'm not lying!" Harry insisted. "It's true! I saw him! I _fought_ him!"

But the Minister was already gone.

Harry turned to Dumbledore, who was still watching him intently.

"Do you want to know what happened, Professor?"

"I do," he said. "But I would not force you to relive those events so soon. Take a few days to recover. I only ask of you this – do not tell anything to anyone until after you've told me."

Harry considered the offer and shook his head.

"Thank you sir, but I'd rather deal with it now. It'll only get harder if I don't."

"Very well." The old wizard nodded. "You have suffered no grave injuries, so I shall inform Madam Pomfrey not to hold you back when you wish to leave, although you should avoid overexerting yourself. Come see me in my office at your convenience." He turned to leave, but stopped briefly by the door. "If you're feeling a bit weak, there's nothing like a chocolate frog to get your energy up," he added.

"What was that?" asked Ron a moment later. He and Hermione came in just as Dumbledore was leaving and heard the Headmaster's impromptu advice.

"He gave me the password to his office," Harry explained.

"Oh, right. Sweets. Got it."

Hermione glared at Ron, trying to project to him wordlessly that he should be worried about his best friend's wellbeing right now.

"How are you, Harry?" she asked softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. It seemed as though she wanted to say more, but couldn't find the right words.

"I've been better."

"Nobody's saying anything," Ron said. "But there are rumors flying around. Something about," he swallowed loudly, "You-Know-Who?"

"Hush!" Hermione silenced him. "Not here, Ron!"

"I'll tell you," Harry said. "After I meet with Dumbledore. And Hermione's right – it's not safe to talk here."

"We're not here to question you, Harry," Hermione reached out and squeezed his hand lightly. Harry glanced at their intertwined fingers, but did not return the gesture. He felt… He didn't know how or what he felt. There were too many emotions mixed together to make sense of them. None dominated, but they were all there, bubbling just beneath the surface.

"Yeah mate," Ron said, nodding. "Must have been rough."

"Cedric is dead," Harry deadpanned. "What do you think?"

Ron averted his eyes and stared at the wall somewhere above Harry's right shoulder.

"Yeah, that… Dumbledore made a speech this morning. Um…"

"Oh Harry." Hermione's eyes were shining with tears that were threatening to fall. "I'm so sorry. It must have been horrible."

"I didn't really have time to think about being scared," Harry said. "I was focused on getting out of there. And I'm kind of getting used to being in mortal danger, you know? It's not the first time Voldemort's tried to kill me and it won't be the last."

"Don't say that!" Hermione shrieked. "Please don't say things like that, Harry. I- I don't know what I would do if-"

She bit her lip, looking ready to start crying openly, but she didn't. It wouldn't be like her to just burst into tears. Instead, she launched herself at Harry, enveloping him in a tight embrace. Harry let her hold him for a moment, while Ron just stood and watched, not knowing what to do or what to say.

They stayed with him for a while longer and Harry acted like they were expecting him to. He gave the answers he knew they were hoping for and made appropriate gestures. He could pull off brooding well enough. If either Ron or Hermione noticed it was just a performance, neither called him out on it. He didn't know why, but he couldn't find it in himself to be entirely honest with them at the moment.

He felt more alone than ever before.

~~oOo~~

Malfoy was waiting for him in the hallway when Harry left the infirmary, having somehow found out when he would be getting out. Or maybe he waited all night, just to make sure he would catch Harry leaving. Flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, he stepped forward and gave Harry his best superior smirk.

"How are you feeling, Potter? Hopefully you still have something left in you. I hear the Dark Lord's parties can get rather intense," he whispered the last sentence just as Harry was passing by.

Harry's only response was to bump into Malfoy forcefully, pushing the taller boy back.

"Why you little half-blood-" Malfoy began, but the rest of the words became stuck in his throat when Harry abruptly turned back and shoved him against the wall, grabbing a fistful of the expensive robes and putting an arm across Malfoy's neck. Crabbe and Goyle, dumbfounded, did not react.

"Listen to me Malfoy, and listen carefully," Harry growled. "I heard once that surviving a near-death experience hardens a person. Considering that I've done it more than once, perhaps you should think before you open your big mouth in my presence again."

"Wait until my father-"

"WHAT ABOUT YOUR FATHER?"

Malfoy cringed when Harry screamed the words right into his face.

"WHAT MALFOY? WHAT ABOUT YOUR FATHER?"

"Potter-" Malfoy tried again. Harry cut him off, pressing down harder on his throat.

"I've had enough, Malfoy. Enough of your taunts and this petty rivalry. Cross me again and you'll wish you'd never been born."

~~oOo~~

Draco was breathing heavily as he watched Potter stalk away. He massaged his throat and then tore into Vincent and Gregory.

"Why didn't you do anything, you imbeciles?" he snarled at them.

"I- I'm s-sorry, Draco, Potter was just-" Vincent stammered.

"Oh, shut up."

Draco's gaze bore into Potter's back until his nemesis turned a corner.

Putting up an act in front of his 'friends' wasn't hard, considering they were about as intelligent as Longbottom, if more useful. But he couldn't shake off the cold feeling creeping up on him. He'd never seen Potter act like this before.

He was different, all of a sudden. It was… unnerving.

_Father will want to know._

~~oOo~~

Harry marched towards the gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office grim-faced. He didn't bother trying to hide his foul mood or returning the greetings of the few people he met along the way.

In front of the gargoyle, he barked out 'chocolate frog' and let the rotating staircase bring him before the heavy oak door. He raised a hand to knock and hesitated.

So... he was going to tell Dumbledore what happened… and then what?

The Headmaster will ask for answers, but give none in return. He'll say 'well done', award a few hundred points maybe, and send him away. Harry will spend the rest of the term trying in vain to find answers to the questions that will inevitably arise – and fail. And then Dumbledore will send him to the Dursleys again.

Not this time.

He was entitled to some answers himself.

_Let's see just how badly the Headmaster wants to know what happened._

He turned on his heel but didn't make two steps before the door opened behind him.

"Harry?" came Dumbledore's voice. "Is something wrong?" He sounded sincere.

"Were it only one something."

He went back down the stairs, not waiting for them to carry him.

~~oOo~~

Dumbledore found him atop the Astronomy Tower, leaning dangerously far over the edge of the battlements.

"Unless I am terribly mistaken, it is long past curfew, Harry."

He did not respond.

"But considering the recent events, I think we can forget about this one night escapade. I am rather surprised however, that your friends aren't here with you."

"Why?" Harry asked, still staring into the dark landscape.

"I assumed you would seek solace in their company."

There was a pause.

"They weren't with me this time. They wouldn't understand."

"And do you blame them?"

"Of course not!" Harry snapped.

Another pause.

"Why didn't you come in?"

Harry gave the old wizard a sidelong glance. "I wanted you to come to me."

"May I ask why?"

"Yes," Harry said. "You may."

He felt uncomfortable under the Headmaster's intense gaze, but tried not to give it away.

"Very well. Why then?"

He took a moment to compose his answer.

"It's incredibly frustrating, you know? To be treated like a child one moment and then expected to act like an adult the next."

"If I have offended you in any way, Harry, I am very sorry."

"I don't feel offended," Harry said. "I don't know how I feel. I just want some answers."

"To what questions?"

"Let's start with the one I asked after I killed Quirrell."

"Ah…" Dumbledore's eyes were filled with regret and compassion. "I did not know you were blaming yourself-"

"I'm not," Harry interrupted. "I don't feel particularly bad about it. He was trying to kill me. I wasn't trying to kill him, but it happened. That's not what I meant and I will thank you to not evade the question, sir."

Dumbledore sighed heavily.

"I remember your question, Harry," he confirmed. "How could I not? It had haunted me for years even before you asked it."

"And why would that be?"

"Because, my boy, it is such a simple question and yet is has such a complex and terrifying answer."

"I saw Voldemort come back from the dead, Professor. I think I can handle it."

~~oOo~~

Hermione observed her best friend keenly through the reminder of the semester. Harry was avoiding company and taking long walks along the lake.

She once saw him feed apples to the giant squid.

He wasn't brooding, as was norm for him, even though he tried to appear that way. Quite the opposite - he seemed to be taking things very well, considering. His face was neutral, an unreadable mask. He was polite when someone tried to talk to him, but his short, laconic answers made it clear he wasn't in the mood to talk. The most she could get out of him was that he'd had a talk with the Headmaster the night after he woke up, but nothing more. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't convince him to open up to her, so after a few days she stopped trying.

Exams were held sooner than usual due to the investigation the Ministry wanted to conduct - the Aurors didn't want students getting in their way. Therefore, a decision was made to send everyone home a few days earlier.

Ron mistook Harry's behavior for… well, whatever Ron was thinking about these days. Hermione honestly didn't even care anymore. He'd been a very poor friend to Harry this past year and obviously didn't understand what Harry had had to deal with, instead preferring to let his pride and jealousy get the better of him.

But despite it all, somehow the three of them ended up sitting together on the Hogwarts Express. Hermione didn't know what to say to start any sort of conversation. Ron couldn't stay still and Harry didn't seem bothered by the awkward silence. He was sitting by the window, watching the world move past them as the train sped towards London.

Hermione noticed Ron fidget in his place near the door. She shot him an inquisitive look, but he just shook his head before finally turning to Harry.

"So, Harry…" he started lamely, "I wasn't exactly okay towards you-"

He stopped abruptly, scrunching up his face, as if he intentionally bit his tongue after hearing his own words.

"I mean about my… behavior… lately. Look, I'm really sorry, okay? It's just you've so _weird_ since the Third Task and-"

Hermione was already opening her mouth to let Ron know he was being a prat when Harry interrupted him.

"It's fine, Ron. Forget about it."

He spoke in an flat tone, giving no indication of anger that Hermione thought he was entitled to, or that he was happy at Ron's turnaround, which was what Hermione had been hoping would happen.

_He's like a completely different person,_ she thought, a conclusion that did nothing to raise her spirits.

_Of course he's different. He's been through a traumatic experience. _

But another voice in her head argued that it had happened before. Professor Quirrell, the basilisk, dementors… and Harry stayed Harry.

_But none of those events quite compare to seeing You-Know-Who rise from the grave._ That much Harry told them, but he gave no details. He also refused to speak about whatever it was he had discussed with the Headmaster.

And there was the fact that he was isolating himself from everyone. Oh, he would speak to her and Ron sometimes, but briefly, and never started the conversation himself.

Rumors ran wild around the school, Malfoy was more vicious than ever and Harry just ignored it all, no doubt infuriating the Slytherin even further. Hermione only saw him acknowledge Malfoy once – with a stare that carried a hint of the anger that she was sure had to be _boiling_ inside of him. Hermione supposed Harry was simply choosing to be angry rather than afraid and while she could sympathize with that approach, it worried her that he just kept it all inside. She almost wished Harry would take it out on her and Ron to get it off his chest.

It seemed, however, that if it was to happen, neither she nor Ron would be there to witness it.

_Perhaps it's his own way of… I don't know, protecting us. That would be just like Harry, to try and deal with all that on his own. _

In the last few days she'd managed to convince herself that this was the case and decided to leave him be for now.

_He'll talk to us when he's ready,_ she decided. _I won't push him._

~~oOo~~

Harry let himself be hugged by Hermione, gave Ron a faint smile and lied that they were okay, evaded Mrs. Weasley and went through the portal to the muggle part of King's Cross only to be stopped by the imposing figure of Alastor Moody.

The ex-Auror made barely moved, but Harry went for his wand nonetheless. He'd found out from Dumbledore that the person who'd been teaching him Defense the whole year turned out to be an impostor. A Death Eater.

It was a blow to Harry's trust for the Headmaster. How could he have not recognized that someone was impersonating a man he considered a close friend? Or if he had, which was quite likely with Dumbledore, why hadn't he done something about it?

The impostor was caught trying to flee the school, still in disguise. That was when Dumbledore decided something was wrong and searched the Defense Professor's office, finding the real Alastor Moody locked inside his own trunk. The Death Eater must have been in a hurry to leave so quickly, leaving everything, including his prisoner, behind. Minister Fudge, in his infinite wisdom, had the man Kissed by a dementor.

Harry was starting to have serious doubts about the people who ran Wizarding Britain.

"Don't worry, boy," Moody grumbled. "It's the real deal this time. Though I commend your vigilance."

"Forgive me if I'm a little suspicious, sir," he retorted icily.

"Aye, can't blame you. Still, I'm here for something important. Why don't you show me this uncle of yours, eh?"

"Why?"

"I reckon he needs to be reminded that you're part of his family, and what that means."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Did Dumbledore tell you to do this?"

"Aye," the older wizard grunted in response. "Heard them Dursleys weren't treating you too well."

"I see," Harry said. "Too little, too late I'm afraid."

"What're you sayin' boy?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll deal with my family myself. You can tell the Headmaster I'll contact him if need be."

Moody stared at him intensely with the normal eye while his magical one moved constantly in all directions.

"You sure, lad?"

Harry stared back. "Quite sure. I have to do this myself."

Moody kept staring.

"It's time for me to start changing some things," Harry said.

"Very well, if you're sure," Moody agreed, nodding once. "But someone will check up on you tomorrow, just in case."

"Unnecessary," Harry said. He caught Moody's gaze and added, "But appreciated."

"Then I wish you a good summer, lad. Constant vigilance," Moody said gruffly and disappeared through the portal.

Harry turned away from it and started pulling his cart towards the exit.

"Hello, uncle," he said to Vernon.

"Just get in the car, boy," the man snapped and turned on his heel, walking back to a silver sedan.

"New car, is it?" Harry asked casually, once his things were in the trunk. He knew very little about cars, but he could see that it wasn't the one he rode in to London last year. Then he got into the front passenger seat. He'd never been in the front. Vernon obviously remembered that as well.

"What the- _get in the back!_" he hissed, spitting.

"I don't think I will," Harry answered coldly.

Vernon's eyes widened momentarily and his face became a deeper shade of red.

"How dare-"

"Shut up," Harry snapped. "Or I'll be forced to call up my godfather."

"Your… godfather?" Vernon blurted out, confused and angry.

"Yes, my godfather." Harry turned to look his uncle in the eye. "Sirius Black. The wanted mass murderer. He's a wizard like me."

He looked straight ahead again and leaned into the seat comfortably. The train ride to London gave him time to think of the best approach his "Dursley problem". It wasn't that hard to figure out, really, and it's why it made him angry. He should have realized it years ago.

Once he found out he was a wizard, he was under Dumbledore's protection. Any power the Dursleys had over him after that was only what he allowed them to have. They were terrified of magic – how easy it would have been to scare them into submission even back then?

Vernon was the foundation – if he crumbled, his wife and son would follow suit. Vernon Dursley was also a bully. Harry knew how to deal with bullies. A pity he had been too caught up in other problems to see it.

If Vernon saw that Harry wasn't intimidated by him anymore, dominos would start falling over quickly. Dudley took after his father and this faux charisma had helped him to form his gang. He was the leader because no one dared challenge him; that would mean a fist fight and if there was one thing Big D did well, it was giving out punches.

He would just need a little confidence.

_And if that doesn't work, I can always ask Moody to drop by._

Vernon pulled into the driveway.

"Take my trunk upstairs," Harry snapped at him and promptly got out of the car, making sure to slam the door shut with as much force as possible. He'd decided to go all out. Nothing else would get his point across.

Vernon, understandably, didn't care much for such behavior.

"Boy," he said through gritted teeth. "What do you think you're doing?"

Harry shot him a furious look. "Putting you in your place," he answered. "And you could use the exercise."

"And where'd you get an idea that you can order me - or anybody - around? That freak school of yours, I'll bet-"

"_Vernon_," Harry said smoothly, his voice laden with malice. "You don't want to make a scene, do you?"

With that, Harry turned on his heel and went inside, where he was immediately assaulted by Petunia.

"What was _that_?" she screeched. "What will the neighbors think!"

"I think their opinions are the least of your concerns right now," Harry purred and drew back his hand.

~~oOo~~

Just as he'd hoped, shock at the sheer audacity of his actions was enough to make the Dursleys back off.

When Vernon saw Harry's handprint on Petunia's face and the culprit rummaging through _his_ fridge, he threw caution to the wind and charged at Harry like an enraged bull.

Harry simply moved out of the way.

"You always said that I was ungrateful for taking me in," he said. "Well, this summer I'll make sure to show you the depth of my gratitude."

"HOW DARE YOU RAISE A HAND TO MY WIFE?" Vernon bellowed.

Narrowing of Harry's eyes was all the warning Vernon received.

The next moment one of Petunia's tawdry vases was hurtling toward him. Vernon swiped his hands madly and the vase was thrown aside, shattering on the floor, but Harry wasted no time. He brought the kitchen chair down like a hammer, knocking Vernon off his feet. He was in the moment, and furious. Helpless anger that had been building up for years was pouring out like a flood.

"HOW DARE I? HOW DARE _YOU!_" Harry roared. He jumped back when Vernon's chubby fingers tried to grab his shirt and lashed out with a kick. And another. And another.

"You treated me like shit!" he hissed, as involuntary tears streaked down his face. "I did everything you said and all I got in return was that stupid cupboard!"

Vernon had stopped fighting back and just raised his arms to protect his face. Petunia's whimpering could be heard from the hallway.

In anger, Harry tired quickly, leaving Vernon right where he was, bruised and bleeding. He then turned back to his aunt, grabbed a fistful of hair and _dragged_ her into the kitchen. His fingers clenched around her throat.

"You treated me worse than a dog," he snarled. "And we all know that if Dudley had been orphaned, my parents would have treated him like one of their own." He had no way of knowing that, actually, but he didn't care. "Things will be different from now on. Say one word I won't like, give me one wrong look, and _I'll fucking kill you._"

~~oOo~~

Life in Little Whinging had one significant advantage over the magical world. Here, Harry was relatively anonymous. He didn't really know anyone apart from the Dursleys and he couldn't care less what lies they had told their precious neighbors. Here, he was away from the prying eyes of his peers, Hogwarts staff and the press. He could vent his anger and frustration on the Dursleys with no interference.

He was being watched, of course. He was wandering in the park one afternoon when he heard someone say his name.

"Wotcher, Harry."

In a blink of an eye, he had his wand out and pointing at the stranger.

"Nice reflexes," she said with appreciation. "I heard you were fast, but that's not something I'd expect from someone who spends as much time in the infirmary as you do."

It wasn't hard to remember someone with her distinct look, even though he'd only seen her once before, and very briefly.

"You were on the platform when I talked to Moody," he said. "Did he send you?"

"Well, he knows I'm here, but the orders didn't come from him."

Harry allowed himself to relax his stance a little, but didn't lower his wand.

"Dumbledore then."

"Not exactly."

"My supply of patience is notoriously low these days."

She raised her hands in a defensive gesture. She was holding a letter.

"Whoa, calm down. I'm watching you because Dumbledore wants it, but I'm not supposed to talk to you. I'm actually going against orders by revealing myself, but family comes first."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I think if I had any family beyond Dursleys, someone would have told me. I think."

The woman grinned at him. "My mom is Sirius' cousin, so that makes me his... first cousin once removed... or something like that. And Sirius is your godfather, so that practically makes us family too."

"Fine." He put his wand away. "Who's the letter for?"

She held it out towards him. "You. Sirius wanted to talk to you, but it's not safe for him to leave the headquarters for now."

"What headquarters?"

"Read the letter. And by the way, I'm Tonks."

"Nice to meet you."

"I'll see you soon, Harry." She winked at him and disappeared among the trees.

The letter proved informative – much more so than the ones Hermione and Ron had sent him, polite and full of assurances of support. Hermione also explained, in vague terms, why they couldn't write him about anything important – Dumbledore didn't want to risk the owl being intercepted. Harry supposed passing letters through messengers, like Sirius did, would defeat the purpose of his guards remaining unseen, although why Dumbledore wanted it that way he couldn't understand. At least now he had an idea of what the Order of the Phoenix was and what they were doing, thanks to Tonks. From what the letter said, not much.

He returned home late - it was already dark. Privet Drive 4 was filled with the usual noise of the telly playing in the living room, the light spilling out into the hallway. Harry passed by, spotting Vernon and Petunia huddled together on the sofa. Vernon noticed him and quickly turned his gaze away. Harry smiled with grim satisfaction.

_Good._

The elder Dursleys had been properly cowed by his... outburst. Vernon's bruises were still clearly visible. He'd had to take a week off from work - he wouldn't show up in the office like that.

Petunia shivered under his gaze. She had been constantly on the verge of tears for the past few days.

Dudley, surprisingly, did not emulate his father and showed no signs of fear. Instead, he'd given Harry a wide berth since his return.

Until tonight, apparently.

He was at the kitchen table, nibbling at a late evening snack and staring into the smaller television in the corner.

"Beat anyone up today, Potter?" he asked idly.

"Keep talking and you'll have the honor of being my first victim."

"Really?" Dudley scoffed. "I'd like to see that."

"I know a spell that will cut you in half," Harry said. "Wanna see your guts on the floor, Dudders?"

"You can't use your stick," Dudley retorted. "You'll be expelled from your school for freaks."

Harry turned to glare at him. "But you'd still be dead."

Dudley seemed to be considering the implications of this threat. "I don't like what you did to mum, you know."

"You've just noticed?" Harry snickered. "Took you long enough."

"Watch your mouth, Potter," Dudley snapped. "You talk too much."

"You started talking first."

"In your sleep, too," Dudley continued. "'Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort!' Who's he, your boyfriend?"

A window cracked, glass split in half. Harry glanced at it and turned back to Dudley.

"Shut up."

"Did you do that?" his cousin demanded, pointing at the window. "You've already wrecked your own room, now you start breaking stuff down here?"

"SHUT UP!" Harry snapped, slapping his hands down onto the table.

"You must be having your period or something" Dudley mocked. "Come on, pull out that wand of yours. Let's see some _magic!_"

"DUDLEY!" Vernon's voice reached them from the living room. "_Don't use that word!_"

"You're just going to let him get away with everything?" Dudley yelled back. "The freak hit mum and you-"

He couldn't finish the sentence, because Harry broke a plate on his face. Then he knelt down on Dudley's chest, grabbed the collar of his shirt and slammed his head against the floor.

"I told you to shut your mouth," he hissed. "Don't make me repeat myself again."

~~oOo~~

Ron withdrew an Extendable Ear.

"Well, it's official," he declared. "Harry's gone nuts."

"Don't say that!" Hermione protested.

"Why, do you disagree?" the redhead asked. "He's beating the muggles into a pulp - I'm not saying it's a bad thing, they deserve it - but don't you think it's a bit worrying?"

Hermione hesitated. "He's been through so much... and they treated him- badly. Everyone has a breaking point, Ron," she said. "Harry must have found his."

"I overheard Tonks - that Auror - saying that he was having nightmares. Trashed in the bed, screamed..." Ron spoke in hushed tones as they retreated to the room Hermione shared with Ginny. "She wanted to do something, but they have orders from Dumbledore not to enter the house. And then it just stopped, for no reason. You have any ideas?"

"No," Hermione said. "I would need to know more than that. But it's not unusual for him to have nightmares. And if they stopped, all the better."

_It must have something to do with You-Know-Who,_ she thought.

"I don't get why he has to stay there," Ron grumbled. They weren't allowed to leave the house and Hermione suspected he must miss Harry's company just as badly as she did.

_Well... perhaps not as much._

"Bloody muggles," Ron said. "Serves them right, even if Harry _is_ crazy."

At that moment, she couldn't agree more.

~~oOo~~

After an entire week filled with threats, glares and verbal abuse, culminating in Dudley receiving seven stitches after Harry's latest blow-up, the Dursley family finally understood the message Harry had been trying to convey.

_You're not in charge anymore._

At first they rebelled against Harry's attempts to impose his tyrannical rule on them, but eventually accepted the fact that this new Harry wasn't just a phase that would pass with time. The presence of the Order guards - some of them, like Dedalus Diggle, weren't hard to spot - only served to intimidate the Dursleys further. They would rather obey Harry than let the neighborhood notice they had 'freaks' crawling all over their property.

Harry learned through letters that Hermione and Ron, along with most of his family, had been relocated from their homes to the Order's headquarters in London. Harry theorized that Dumbledore was trying to keep him in the dark, as he was so fond of doing, as payback for wrestling the text of the prophecy from him in June. Or perhaps he was just reading too much into things. Having little to do in Little Whinging, Harry spent a lot of time thinking, mostly about what Sirius was writing him.

Then there were nightmares.

They weren't images of the night of Voldemort's resurrection. The knowledge that he was out there made Harry feel apprehensive, uneasy, nervous... But Voldemort wasn't here right now. He was a looming presence on the horizon - a threat, and never one to be underestimated, but not genuinely terrifying. The nightmares were something much more disturbing. Something all men fear - and Harry was no different.

The unknown.

There were eerie, echoing sounds, images, emotions - rage, uncertainty and hunger - for power and other things, strange things. And pain. Above all pain. His, someone's else's - it didn't matter. It was always present, chilling to the bone and burning as red-hot steel. Voices screamed, begging mercy of their tormentor, but there was never any rest.

He didn't know what to make of it, what it was supposed to mean, and it scared him. There was something familiar there, but for days, he couldn't figure it out, forced to swim in the ocean of meaninglessness... until one night, order was born of the chaos.

~~oOo~~

The Defense classroom looked different than he remembered it. The heavy curtains were gone, and the room was brightly lit. The skeleton that usually hung from the ceiling was also missing. The desks, instead of neat rows, were arranged in a u-shape, closer to the walls, leaving more space in the middle, where two of his classmates were currently exchanging spells. The Stunning Spell was the most liberally used by both of them, but each duelist had their own style.

The boy forewent subtlety in favor of more powerful and direct attacks, trying to shatter his opponent's defenses with a steady onslaught. The girl, on the other hand, danced around her end of elevated platform, dodging most spells which then dissipated against a barrier surrounding the platform. Her wand was spitting out hexes and jinxes whenever she could get a clear shot. The boy simply blocked all of her spells, grinning as he did. The girl looked like she was having trouble keeping up with him – it showed in her expression and the fact that she started blocking some of his spells, her shield faltering with each blow.

The boy stepped forward, preparing to cast his final spell, but he took a moment too long and it was all the girl needed to snag the victory from him.

"_Everte Statum!_" she cried.

The spell struck the boy in the chest and suddenly he was the one grimacing while the girl smiled at him viciously.

"Very well done, both of you,"said a woman at the back of the classroom. "But there can only be one winner. Take ten points for your victory, Miss Black."

Black? Harry's memory was fuzzy. He didn't recall anyone with that surname at Hogwarts. She looked to be about his age and he was sure he'd have remembered someone named Black in his year.

"Next time, don't start what you can't finish, mudblood," she sneered at the boy, lying in a heap where he the spell had thrown him off the platform.

"You just lost your ten points, Miss Black. There will be no foul language in my classroom."

She reminded Harry of McGonagall, but that obviously wasn't her. She looked nothing like the Transfiguration Professor and besides, when did McGonagall ever teach Defense?

Black glared at the boy furiously, mouthing 'mudblood' at him and went back to her seat.

"Now,we still have a few minutes left. Any volunteers for the next demonstration?"

"Professor Merrythought?" asked someone from behind Harry. "I haven't had a chance to duel in a while."

Harry was puzzled. This new voice was eerily familiar. More so than anything in this place.

The Professor smiled at the speaker. "No wants to go up against you anymore, Tom. I might have to start bringing in older students to provide you with adequate opponents."

Tom? The only Tom Harry could think of was the owner of the Leaky Cauldron. He couldn't be sure. His memory was... clouded.

On second thought, there was also-

His chair screeched on the floor as he turned back hurriedly to look behind him, straight at the handsome face of Tom Riddle.

Riddle's gaze shifted from Professor Merrythought to Harry. He kept the friendly smile in place, but his eyes expressed more disgust than Harry thought it was possible to convey with a single look.

Suddenly Harry felt very hot. He jammed a finger inside his collar to loosen it and found that he wasn't sweaty. The growing warmth became a pulsating headache and he barely stopped himself from slapping a hand on his scar in front of Riddle.

"What are you looking at, Potter?"

That was when he woke up.


	2. Changes, Part 2

.

**PROLOGUE: Changes**

**Part 2**

A stifled scream escaped his lips and he sat up on the bed, almost rolling off the side. With a groan, he stumbled blindly through his room and the hallway, into the bathroom. Without his glasses on he walked straight into a cabinet holding Petunia's supply of creams, pills and other products. The ensuing racket lured Vernon out of the master bedroom.

"In the middle of-" he began, but Harry cut him off, slamming a fist into the cabinet, which, judging by the noise, upset its carefully arranged contents.

"You don't want to be in my way right now," he growled. "Just leave me alone."

His uncle wisely backed away. Harry splashed his face with cold water and took a few sips. By the time Vernon returned to his bedroom and locked the door the headache had receded enough that now it was more of an annoyance, but Harry was still shaking. Gripping the sides of the sink, he stared at his reflection.

"What the hell?"

He had no idea what just happened. Did he imagine it all? But if so, why was his scar hurting? As far as he knew, it only reacted like that if Voldemort was somehow involved. Could he have made it all up – in his sleep? Doubtful.

In hindsight, the experience was very similar to viewing a memory in a pensieve, but that time in Dumbledore's office, he knew all along it wasn't real – here, he didn't realize it up until the very end. Familiar elements mixed in with unknowns.

Professor Merrythought - was she real? Did she teach Voldemort when he was at Hogwarts? And the girl, the Professor called 'Miss Black'... was she related to Sirius somehow? According to what little he knew about Sirius' family – the letters were scarce in that regard – she certainly had the attitude for it. The Defense classroom was different, but it was definitely the place. And finally Voldemort.

He looked a bit younger than the apparition Harry remembered from the Chamber of Secrets. Or maybe it just seemed like it because Harry himself was older. And Voldemort _recognized_ him. He called him by his name... But if that was really a memory, why would Voldemort let him see it? What benefit would he gain from letting Harry learn more about him, however little that was? Was this some trick? A ploy designed to do exactly what was happening – make Harry second-guess himself?

Then again, if Voldemort didn't show him the memory, then his reaction to seeing Harry there was... underwhelming.

"What are you looking at, Potter?"

Definitely not angry enough.

"What the _hell?_" Harry snapped again. His blurry reflection offered no answer.

It felt like a memory, but...

What if... Voldemort didn't know that he saw it? He thought back to his last conversation with Dumbledore. According to the Headmaster, his and Voldemort's minds were linked – that's how he was able to see what Voldemort was doing last year. Voldemort didn't seem to know that Harry was inside his head then. Did the same thing happen a few minutes ago?

If only he could figure out how to do that consciously... maybe he could learn something useful about Voldemort. _Know your enemy..._ That couldn't hurt, as long as Voldemort didn't catch him.

Should he inform Dumbledore though?

No, he decided. The last thing he wanted was having other people poke around in his head. Dumbledore would tell him to try to close the connection, not use it.

There was no use going back to bed – the sun was poking out from beneath the horizon and he wouldn't be able to fall asleep anyway. He had too many thoughts racing through his mind.

Why would Voldemort call him by name? If Voldemort was aware of Harry's presence in his memory – assuming it was even a real memory – why would he let things go on that long? And if it was a trap engineered by Voldemort, why would he give himself away by addressing Harry?

_Maybe this whole thing is a hoax... Just a mind game. I won't even know when Voldemort works his way into my thoughts. _

Another possibility occurred to him later that day, but it seemed so implausible that he almost dismissed out of hand.

Judging by several of the photos in the album Hagrid had given him, there were quite a few Potters in Britain before Voldemort wiped them out. Was it possible that he somehow took another Potter's place in the memory? At least one of them must have been at Hogwarts at the same time Voldemort was. He remembered wearing school robes when he sat in that classroom, but every time he viewed a memory before, he had been wearing whatever he actually had on at the time.

Another obvious disparity was the fact that when he saw Tom Riddle confront Hagrid and watched the Death Eater trials, people inside the memory didn't notice his presence, but Voldemort in the Defense classroom did. It suggested that what he saw wasn't a memory at all, but if so, why did it seem like one?

He gave it some thought and his 'other Potter' theory seemed to make more sense over time, even though it was only supported by a gut instinct. But how could he unconsciously slip into such a disguise? He had no idea how he even got there in the first place, wherever 'there' was.

All in all, his best guess was that it was a trap. And yet, he was considering going back there, if he could figure out how to do it.

It might not be a trap after all. In that case, he couldn't just throw away an opportunity like that, could he? If he were to find himself thrown into another memory, he might as well take a look around.

~~oOo~~

He turned a full circle, taking in his surroundings. It was a strange place. It wasn't a room, nor an open space. Standing still, he could hardly discern what was happening around him, but if he took a step in any direction, or reached out, everything shifted, transforming into something else, things he remembered from the past. Dursley's front yard, where he'd spent hours tending to Petunia's rose bushes. Diagon Alley. The quidditch stadium. The Forbidden Forest. All within inches of each other, it seemed. Memories.

He honestly couldn't tell if he was dreaming or not. Logic suggested that yes, he was, but then logic seemed irrelevant here.

The one constant all this was the door. Simple, plain. He turned the knob and stepped over the threshold and suddenly lost the sense of up and down. Two walls, floor and ceiling, all the same dull gray color. But was he standing on floor? On the ceiling? No. One of the walls? But was the floor to his left or his right?

He looked over his shoulder. His hand still rested on the doorknob and he could see the disjointed shapes on the other side. His gaze slid along the door frame, up and down. It seemed he was standing on the floor after all.  
>He let go off the door and it slammed shut behind him and sunk into the wall. He touched it where the door had been, but the wall wouldn't budge. He could only go forward now. Except that...<p>

He turned around, looking down the corridor. He couldn't see the far end – it disappeared in the distance as the confines of the long, narrow space blurred together. He glanced back – or did he? He was looking down the corridor again. Shouldn't there be another wall there? Where the door had been?

He leaned against one of the walls, arms spread wide and looked right and left. They were mirror images of each other. He stood at one of end of the corridor mere moments ago, but now he seemed to be somewhere else. He couldn't have moved without _noticing_ it, could he? Or maybe the wall just disappeared, like the door had.

It had been on his right, correct? So, he should go left. Forward. This corridor had to lead somewhere.

He tried to push off the wall, but he wasn't leaning against a wall anymore. He was lying on the ground, with his legs propped up against the wall. Well, of course. He did lie down a minute ago, didn't he?

He stood up and started walking. But was he even moving? Everything around him looked the same. Had he been 'walking' in one place? How long was this damn corridor?

Walking didn't seem to accomplish much, so he started jogging along and finally broke into a sprint. He wasn't tiring. How was this possible? He wasn't even breathing hard. Hell, was he breathing at all? He felt no air rush past his face as he ran.

What was the point, anyway? It could all just be a stupid, confusing dream for all he knew and he'd wake up in a moment to the sound of Vernon's heavy footsteps threatening to collapse the staircase with every creak...  
>His back against the wall, he slid down to the floor and closed his eyes for a moment.<p>

_I need to get out of here,_ he thought.

He opened his eyes. The gray corridor looked the same. Almost.

There was a familiar door to his right. He saw a minute – an hour – a year – prior. An identical door, in exactly the same spot. So, he hadn't even moved an inch. Or maybe he sat down on the other side of the corridor?

At least he had a way out.

He turned the knob and pushed the door open.

So it was a different door after all. This was definitely another place. At first glance, it looked like the swirling mass of memories he'd seen previously, but there was nothing even remotely familiar here. It all looked very uninviting but... he was curious.

Something glided into his view and landed gently at his feet. A torn out page. It must have come from an old book, judging by how yellow the paper was. Something was written at the top in blocky letters, almost runic in appearance. A spell?

_I wonder what-_

~~oOo~~

Sunlight flickered on his glasses as he moved in and out of it, walking down the hall past the high windows. He nodded in greeting whenever someone passed him by with a friendly 'Hello, Potter'. It was embarrassing, but he couldn't remember their names. The sooner he was in the library, the better. Strangers likely wouldn't disturb him if he barricaded himself away with books. He had several tomes to return as well.

He glanced inside his bag to make sure they were all there. His eyes rested on a bundle of dark, glittering material. His Cloak. Yes, he always kept it close, just in case.

Someone entered his peripheral vision. Instinctively, he looked in this direction.

It was Riddle.

He frowned. Riddle wasn't carrying a bag, so what was he doing here? If he'd come to study, he would have brought something to take notes.

Harry slipped into a niche behind a suit of armor and watched Riddle stop at the librarian's desk. The Slytherin handed over a piece of parchment.

_A note from a Professor, probably. Is he going to the Restricted Section?_

The note was apparently accepted, because Riddle received a key and disappeared between the shelves. Harry quickly threw the Cloak on and rushed towards the library, careful not to run into someone.

Riddle maneuvered between other students, clearly heading towards the the back of the library, where the Restricted Section was located. He was one of few students whom the Professors trusted to actually be in the Restricted Section on his own. Usually you had to specify what book you were interested in and the librarian retrieved it herself.

Riddle used the key to open the charmed door and slipped inside, closing it behind him. He wouldn't have locked it – the charms would alert a staff member that a student was in the Restricted Section alone.

_Please, please let the hinges be well-oiled..._

He cringed when the door creaked, and quickly opened it just enough to get inside. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Riddle staring straight at him.

But Riddle was staring _through_ him, at the door, now slightly ajar. His wand was suddenly in his hand and he jabbed it at the door, which closed behind Harry, before focusing his attention on the dusty tome in front of him.

Harry edged closer, taking care to breathe silently. Fortunately, the letters at the top of the page Riddle was studying were large enough that he could read them upside down.

CURSED FIRE, the letters spelled out.

_Why, that doesn't sound ominous at all._

Eventually Riddle stepped away from the table and into one of the aisles, wand raised. Harry quickly circles the table and stopped behind Riddle. Was he going to cast the spell? 'Fire' was pretty self-explanatory. Fire in a library didn't sound like a good idea. _Cursed_ Fire sounded even worse, especially in the company of books of which some were probably cursed themselves. Riddle didn't seem worried.

Harry's observed Riddle go through the wand motions. He was barely doing anything. Harry turned to the book and skimmed through the first few paragraphs.

_That's not what it says here. He's doing it wrong. _

But Riddle wasn't deterred.

"_Ignis Maledictus!_"

His wand spit out a flame. It looked like any other, except that normal fire didn't spontaneously take on the shape of a giant snake. Riddle abruptly ended the spell, however and the fiery snake dispersed into thin air. Harry had just enough time to realize that he had mimicked Riddle's stance. His hand was raised, fingers poised as if he were holding a wand, even though he wasn't and _he had said the incantation along with Riddle._ If the book mentioned it, he hadn't got to that part. He only read about the wand movements! How could he know the right words? He shouldn't!

Before he could ponder the issue further, his train of thought was interrupted by Riddle, whose spell hurled him backwards. His back hit another bookshelf, the Cloak flew off.

Harry tried to blink away the black-and-purple splotches that dotted his vision as Riddle picked up the Cloak and walked up to him, looking down with that intense hatred.

"Potter," he growled.

Harry tried to get up, but Riddle flicked his wand and he couldn't move anymore.

"Didn't your parents teach you it's rude to spy on people?"

Harry really didn't want to find out what would happen next.

~~oOo~~

Like last time, the headache went away as quickly as it had come, though it felt like his skull would split in two when we woke up.

His throat was dry, so he made his way to the kitchen, not caring if the noise disturbed Vernon again, and guzzled down a bottle of water.

He was almost certain now that he was viewing Voldemort's memories. Both came to an abrupt end in a similar fashion – Voldemort addressed him directly and then it dissolved into nothingness and he woke up with a terrible headache emanating from his scar. Everything else was different though.

In the classroom, he noticed much quicker that something wasn't right. In the library, he was entirely immersed. He couldn't be sure, but something told him it wasn't a good sign. He should have been more aware of what was happening, but he didn't even blink when a teenage Voldemort appeared, as if he actually went to school with him!

He was no closer to knowing if this was Voldemort's doing, but he actually _learned_ something this time.

Cursed Fire. The Living Flame. One of the most dangerous spells known, capable of destroying almost any substance, magical or not. Given enough time, it could even eat through goblin steel. The incantation...

"Ignis Maledictus," he whispered. These words caged a power that few could hope to master. The book disappeared from the Hogwarts library soon after he found it.

_No, after VOLDEMORT found it! Focus, damn it!_

"Fuck," he swore, leaning on the table. "_How_ do I know these things?"

He wasn't losing his mind, was he? Did sane people usually learn things in their sleep, or in other bizarre, inexplicable ways? Was that why they went insane in the first place? Suddenly all those criminals they showed on TV claiming that 'a voice in their head made them do it' didn't seem so crazy.

Cursed Fire. Fiendfyre. He knew everything there was to know about it, and yet he'd never heard of it until he saw that book in Voldemort's memory. He even knew things that weren't in the book. He'd discussed them with Professor Merrythought. She had been happy to explain-

Harry froze. Then he hurled the empty plastic bottle through the kitchen. It bounced off a window.

"Stop it!" he hissed.

_I didn't even know that woman existed until two days ago!_

And what was the gray corridor? If he guessed right, it led him from his own memories to Voldemort's.

He recalled what Dumbledore had told him, about why he could sometimes see what Voldemort was doing. Was the corridor the connection they shared? It made more sense than any of his other theories.

There had to be a way to control whatever was happening. Even if he wanted to stop peeking into Voldemort's past, he didn't know how. Either way, he had to something about it.

Was the corridor the answer? If this was indeed the mental link he shared with Voldemort, perhaps there was a way to close it?

At least he would have something to do while he was stuck here.

~~oOo~~

"How's Sirius doing?"

Tonks shrugged at that. "Still not getting out much. At all, actually. Dumbledore insists it's too dangerous for him to leave the house."

"He can't be taking that too well," Harry said.

"He's not an indoors type," Tonks agreed. "He's been acting a bit off lately, although I'm not sure if it's because of this, or just that he's a Black."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

"Blacks have a reputation for being... quirky."

"You mean you're prone to insanity?"

"Insanity is a very strong word. But I don't think there's been a Black in the last few centuries who didn't have some... interesting characteristic."

"Do I want to know?"

"Oh, it's nothing bad," Tonks said. "He's been spending a lot of time in the library recently. He locks himself inside and... well, that's all I know. Maybe he's just catching up on some reading. Or he could be summoning demons. Like I said, it's nothing to worry about. It's just out of character for Sirius."

"I think a lot of people would call demon summoning worrying."

"Oh, it's nothing," Tonks said, grinning. "Blacks have done it before."

Harry paused. "Really?"

"Well, it only happened once, in the thirteenth century, if you believe the old journals... and it was a minor demon."

"Those journals... are they in the library?"

"As far as I know."

"You expect me to believe you didn't look for them?"

"It's the best protected room in the building. Only the Head of the Black family can get inside, and those he or she invites inside. Sirius hasn't let anyone else in. Not even Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore couldn't break whatever spells protect the library?"

"I dunno. Maybe he didn't think it would be very polite to force his way in."

"I'll bet there are a lot of rare books in there."

"That bet – I'm not taking it."

"Hermione must be tearing her hair out. All that precious knowledge, just outside her reach."

Tonks threw her head back and laughed. "You have no idea. Anyway, my shift is almost over. Wouldn't want Dung to see me disregarding orders, so I should get going. Here you go." She handed him another letter from Sirius.

"Thanks. And I have one for him, too."

"I'll pass it on. Stay safe. Dung's not the best guard material."

As per their developed routine, they parted ways. Harry turned back towards Privet Drive while Tonks concealed herself. She would tail him back home until the shift at six.

Harry started towards Number Four at a leisurely pace, but didn't get very far. There was laughter and other, less discernible sounds coming from the direction of the nearby playground.

It all sounded rather familiar.

He quickened the pace and sure enough, Dudley and his friends were there, sharing a pack of cigarettes between them. Two younger boys were just leaving, hands in their pockets and heads lowered. If Harry were to guess, Piers, Dudley's 'second in command' had just collected money for the group's recreational fund.

Harry had been secretely hoping to run into them this summer. He was itching for a fight. In Malfoy's absence, they would do just fine.

Before he took one more step, an invisible hand fell on his shoulder.

"I know what you want to do. It's not a good idea."

"I've told you about them. You don't think they deserve a lesson?" Harry hissed.

"Sure they do, but violence isn't always the best way to solve problems."

"It is in this case."

"Also, there are five of them."

Harry found Tonks' wrist and pried her hand off.

"Then it's fortunate you're here to lend aid should I need it," he retorted.

Tonks sighed. "At least be smart about it."

"Don't worry," he said, eyeing a discarded piece of pipe. "I will be."

Piers noticed him first. "Hey, D, look - it's the freak!" he called, prompting another round of laughter.

Harry just smiled.

"Hello Dudley, Dudley's sidekicks."

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

"Will you look at that. The freak has learned to speak!" Piers said.

"Shut up," Dudley snapped. "Let's go."

"Whoa, D. What's gotten into you lately? First you let some loser get the better of you, and now your cousin is all cocky and you want to leave?"

Harry guessed Piers was referring to the stitches holding Dudley's brow together.

"Piers," Dudley said, "shut up, for your own good."

"Guys, my hearing mustn't be so good, because I just heard D say to leave the freak alone when he's looking for a fight."

"Why don't you stop running your mouth and step up yourself, then," Harry taunted.

Piers, who was taller and heavier than Harry, grinned and took off his jacket.

"You've had this coming for a long time-"

Harry quickly ducked down, gathered a fistful of dirt and threw it in the other boy's face. While Piers was coughing and spitting, Harry grabbed the rusty pipe he saw earlier and lunged forward.

The others watched in stunned silence as Harry pummeled Piers with his improvised weapon, landing blows on his opponent's legs, arms and stomach. Everything happened quickly and not a minute later he stood over Piers with the now bloodied pipe in hand.

"I can keep going. Any takers?"

The rest of Dudley's gang merely looked on, shock all but spelled out on their faces.

Harry threw the pipe away and turned on his heel.

"Don't let me catch you stealing again," he called over his shoulder. "I won't be so lenient next time."

~~oOo~~

Tonks fidgeted under Sirius's stare.

"I'm telling you," she said, "he's not okay. He's in bad shape."

"Didn't you just tell me that he spends his days beating the crap out of people?" Sirius asked, amused.

Tonks glared at him. "He's fine physically. Getting better, if anything. But he's not right in the head. Either he's becoming psychotic or it's a really violent case of coping with the trauma - only it's other people that experience the violence."

"So he's blowing off some steam," Sirius commented. "One could argue he's doing remarkably well, considering what the trauma was."

"Sirius." Tonks seemed to be losing her patience. "I really don't care if he's turning his relatives into minced meat on a daily basis. I'm a Black too, you know. We were never big on morals."

Sirius grinned and tipped an invisible hat to her.

"But that sudden change is worrying. You told me he was a nice kid."

"I still think he is," Sirius said. "His letters are nice. And very shrewd."

"Nice kids don't start wrecking their bedrooms and people around them all of a sudden!" Tonks insisted.

"No matter," Sirius replied. "He'll be here soon enough. I'll keep him interested - and tired. He needs to learn to fight."

Tonks threw up her arms in frustration and turned to leave the room.

"You forgot something," Sirius reminded her.

She grabbed the envelope from him and stormed out. Sirius looked out of the window with a sly smile on his lips.

_Go Harry._

~~oOo~~

Over the next several weeks it became clear that he wouldn't be able to control his random incursions into Voldemort's mind. The memories he saw were mostly centered around Voldemort's Hogwarts years. Sometimes, he caught a rare glimpse of his later life.

Headaches prevailed as well. More intense ones seemed to appear when a particular memory yielded more information. Without outside help, he had no way of finding out just how he was learning through observing Voldemort. It was a burning question, but he decided against writing Sirius about it. He had no guarantee that Sirius could help him over a distance and there was a chance that Dumbledore would find once he shared the secret with someone. The last thing he wanted right now was for Albus Dumbledore to ask him questions about this.

The one element he gained some measure of control over time was the corridor. He could now navigate it without much difficulty, although he still had no say in when he landed there. When he did, he stepped outside carefully, pulling small fragments from the mass of memory that lingered beyond the door. He was now almost certain that it was the connection Dumbledore mentioned.

Gradually, it became easier to identify matching fragments and he pulled them together, arranging images into scenes, attaching sounds and smells. He forged the elements into more memories. It was slow work, but rewarding. He wondered what Hermione would say if she knew he was, in a way, learning about magic from the most feared Dark Lord in history. He now knew more about Voldemort than, he suspected, even Dumbledore ever would.

Voldemort's mind was a treasure trove of knowledge. As long as he didn't wander in too deep, he could safely access anything within his reach. It was his best a chance to even the odds. According to Dumbledore, there were very few people alive skilled enough to survive an encounter with Voldemort – if they ran. Even fewer could challenge him to a duel and do the same.

It didn't instill confidence. How was he expected to fight someone even Dumbledore was wary of? In a confrontation, magic would be his greatest weapon, so he sought out even the tiniest bits of knowledge. He didn't dismiss anything, even the most mundane details.

Standing against Voldemort was a momentous task. He would succeed, or die trying.

~~oOo~~

August draw nearer and Harry expected he would be leaving Little Whinging soon – the day couldn't come soon enough.

A week before his birthday, Tonks brought two letters, one from Sirius and one from Dumbledore; the trip would take place on the thirtieth. When asked why they couldn't just use a portkey or apparate, she explained that Voldemort most likely had spies in the Department of Magical Transport. Using a traceable method of travel would give Death Eaters an idea where the headquarters was, so they would fly on brooms.

On his last morning at the Dursleys' Harry woke in a considerably better mood than the day before. He would be leaving for London come evening and leaving Privet Drive was always something to look forward to. Finally, he would be closer to the magical world and Sirius, who was proving to be an invaluable ally. Plotting by correspondence was too slow for his liking.

Seeing as Sirius had essentially become a prisoner in his own home, Harry suspected that he himself wouldn't be allowed out either - Dumbledore would undoubtedly argue against such security risks – so he decided to take a long walk on his last summer afternoon in Little Whinging. By chance, he ran into Dudley on the outskirts of the town.

"How's your day been, Big D?" he asked idly.

"Oh... uh, hi. Okay, I guess."

"That's... nice." Harry suppressed a yawn. It was one of those 'lazy' afternoons.

Out of pure boredom, he made small talk and found out that Dudley would be competing in an amateur boxing tournament in London.

"Good for you, Dudders. Let's hope you won't have to face off against anyone older than twelve, or-"

He stopped in mid-sentence, feeling a sudden surge of cold. A familiar kind of cold. Eleven inches of holly were in his hand momentarily.

What were dementors doing in Little Whinging, of all places?

_Stupid question,_ he chided himself mentally. _They're looking for you, of course. Why else would they be here?_

New question then - _why_ were dementors looking for him?

"Dudley, go home," he snapped. Truthfully, he wouldn't mind seeing his cousin turned into a human plant, but he'd rather not have to explain why he stood by and let it happen.

Dudley immediately began panicking. "Why is it suddenly so cold? What are you doing?"

"Nothing yet," Harry mumbled.

He twisted in place to face two dementors hovering a hundred feet away. He recalled the moment of cracking one of Petunia's porcelain plates on her son's head. It was definitely a happy memory.

"_Expecto Patronum,_" Harry intoned the spell...

...and nothing happened.

_That memory doesn't qualify? Oh well._

A month ago, he would have had to resort to running, or frantically trying to find another memory and hoping it was happy enough to call forth his Patronus. Now, however, he was armed with a fraction of Voldemort's knowledge. And according to a little tidbit of that knowledge, there was one thing that dementors had in common with inferi.

They weren't fond of fire.

"_Incendio!_"

A torrent of flames surged from his wand. He willed the conjured inferno forward and it met the dementors head on. Clearly, the hooded wraiths immediately whirled backwards, away from the fire.

It bought him enough time to try conjuring his Patronus again.

"_Expecto-_"

But before he could finish the spell, the fire had dissipated enough that dementors could get through.

"_-Patronum!_" he cried, recalling Sirius's successful escape from Hogwarts.

Again, nothing. The dementors were right in front of him.

_Fuck this._

"_IGNIS MALEDICTUS!_"

Fiendfyre took on the form of a four-legged beast. The fiery construct charged the dementors, spitting fire. They fled again. Harry grinned in satisfaction. He'd wanted to try this spell for weeks.

Dementors were nothing in sight, having apparently left as suddenly as they'd appeared. He tried dispelling the Fiendfyre, but it wasn't satisfied. The Cursed Flame never is.

The instant dementors flew away, the spell turned on its caster.

_Oh, great._

Harry slashed with his wand, trying to dispel it again, but the effect was minimal. Fiendfyre seemed to collapse in on itself, but then it expanded, spawning another lion-like shape, larger than the original.

"POTTER!" Mad-Eye's voice boomed from beyond the flames, "DON'T LET UP!"

The Fiendfyre was so hot that Harry was instantly covered in sweat, despite the lingering chill the dementors had left behind. He swept his wand in a wide arc - the flames were forced back for a moment, but immediately renewed their assault.

Harry could hear Moody's voice from the other side of the inferno, urging him to keep throwing the fires away. Harry couldn't really do anything but that, so he jabbed and slashed with his wand, pushing the Fiendfyre back, but he grew tired quickly and each time that distance was shorter, or the fires managed to get closer before he raised his wand again.

He was sure that his face would get burned off - by his own spell, no less - when the wall of flames suddenly dispersed into smaller ones before dissipating completely, leaving no trace but intense heat that hung in the air for a moment.

"What on Earth," Moody growled as he hobbled closer, "possessed you to do that? How do you even know this spell?"

"I picked it up along the way," Harry said dismissively.

Moody's magical eye was spinning tirelessly, scanning their surroundings for any other threats.

"Picked it up, eh? That's not my thing anyway. Dumbledore can take it up with you if he wants to. Damn you, Potter! We're lucky there weren't any witnesses... well, apart from your- bloody hell!"

It seemed the dementors wouldn't be returning to Azkaban on empty stomachs. Dudley was slumped against the wall of a nearby building, motionless, except for the slight movement of his chest.

"Has he been Kissed?" Harry asked.

"Aye," the ex-Auror responded. "Nothin' to be done now. He's just a husk. Might as well be dead."

"Ah..." Harry cleared his throat. "What a pity. Terrible."

"It's no time for joking, lad. The Kiss is worse than death. Nobody deserves it."

"I disagree," Harry said calmly. "I know some people who deserve it."

Their conversation was interrupted by an owl dropping an envelope into Harry's hands.

"It's from the Ministry," Harry said, recognizing the symbol stamped into the wax seal. "Why, _of course._"


	3. Dissent, Part 1

.

**CHAPTER ONE: Dissent**

**Part 1**

"Stay on your guard, Potter," Moody said gruffly. "You can read that later."

"I'll read it now," Harry snapped at the older man, tearing the envelope open.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_It has come to the attention of the Ministry of Magic that you have performed a Fire Charm, followed by a Spell of Cursed Fire close to seven p.m. this afternoon in the presence of a muggle. Since this is your second offense, you are hereby expelled from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_Aurors will be arriving at your destination shortly to destroy your wand and detain you pending further investigation._

_With respect,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

"Wonderful," Harry growled.

"What does it say?" Moody demanded.

"I've been expelled from Hogwarts. They're sending Aurors to snap my wand," Harry said. "I'd like to see them try."

"Don't worry, lad. Dumbledore will straighten this out."

"Perhaps, but how long will it take him?" Harry asked, tearing the letter to pieces. "Definitely longer than it'll take the Aurors to get here. Dumbledore's not welcome in the Ministry these days, is he?"

"How would you know?"

"I get the newspaper delivered."

He'd wanted to cancel his Prophet subscription a dozen times over the past month, but they still printed something interesting from time to time, so he didn't. Sirius had given him some advice on how to read between the lines. It appeared that the Ministry was using their jokes about him to divert attention from pressing issues that seemed to grow more numerous by day.

His thoughts were interrupted by three consecutive pops of apparition.

"Harry Potter." The Aurors spotted him immediately. "You are under arrest for violation of the Statute of Secrecy and the Decree for Reasonable Restrictions of Underage Sorcery."

Harry gave the three Aurors a spiteful look.

"Sure," he said. "As soon as someone explains to me why I was attacked by dementors."

"Our orders are to snap your wand and take you in," the Auror in command argued. "Someone else will hear what you have to say once you're in custody."

"So you don't care that there are dementors on the loose, hundreds of miles away from Azkaban?" Moody asked suspiciously.

"Sir, with all due respect-"

"How about a deal?" Harry asked suddenly.

"There will be no _dealing_, Mr. Potter," the Auror snapped. "Now relinquish your wand!"

Harry twirled the holly wand in his fingers. It wouldn't work against Voldemort – brother wands couldn't harm each other. Still, it had served him well so far and he certainly didn't want to see it destroyed.

"I'll give you my wand and you can take me into custody-"

"Potter, what do you think you're doing?" Moody interrupted.

"I'll handle it," he assured the ex-Auror.

"You can take me in," Harry repeated. "All I'm asking is that you refrain from destroying my wand until it's explained why dementors, who are supposedly controlled by the Ministry, were here to take my soul."

"The dementors remain firmly under ministerial control, Mr. Potter."

"Then someone in the Ministry sent two of them to _silence_ me," Harry reasoned. "Rather worrying, don't you think, that the government would use them to attack civilians."

"You claim there were dementors here," the Auror said, keeping his wand aimed at Harry, "but do you have proof?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "How about my soulless cousin?"

~~oOo~~

"He did what?" Sirius yelled in indignation. "What do you mean Harry _let_ himself be taken away by the Aurors?"

"Sirius, now is not the time to panic," Dumbledore pleaded. "So calm down. Harry was taken into custody, but his wand is intact. I was just trying to persuade the Minister to drop the charges and rescind the arrest order when young Percy Weasley stormed in, saying that Harry had just been escorted to a DMLE holding cell."

"But- arrested for underage magic?" Arthur Weasley asked. "The Statue allows for usage of magic by minors in self-defense and if dementors-"

"That was one of the things I pointed out to the Cornelius. My influence in the Ministry has been greatly lessened in recent weeks and I wasn't able to accomplish much. I was, however, allowed to talk to Harry, albeit briefly."

"What did he say?" Sirius demanded.

"The good news is that there is indisputable proof of the dementors' presence in Little Whinging, which bolsters Harry's case. Unfortunately, the proof in question is, quite literally, Harry's cousin, Dudley. He was subjected to the Kiss."

The room was cast into silence as the Order took it all in.

"How's Harry taking taking it?" Sirius asked. "I mean, he wasn't fond of his relatives, but they are still his family-"

"He expressed regret at Dudley's undeserved fate," Dumbledore said somberly.

"So what should we do?" someone asked.

Dumbledore's eyes flickered with the tiniest twinkle.

"Well, on that account... Harry requested that he be allowed to deal with the matter himself. He told me of his plans and his reasoning is sound."

"What?" Sirius shrieked. "I wrote him about how the Wizengamot works, but he's nowhere near ready-" he stopped in mid-sentence as all the eyes in the room focused on him.

"Is there something you wish to tell us, Sirius?" the Headmaster asked.

"I- well, I've been writing Harry about... some basic things. About how the government works and the like. For someone in his position it's only logical to know it, especially now that he may have to deal with the Ministry a lot more often once it becomes known that Voldemort is back."

"From the way Potter talked to those Aurors, I'd say the lad has a good head on his shoulders," Moody said, instantly drawing the attention to himself. Mad-Eye just giving out praise like that? "For a kid, that is," he added.

"Hey, didn't they ask what you were doing there?" Tonks asked curiously.

"They did," Moody said.

~~oOo~~

The Aurors quickly examined Dudley's body.

"Merlin," the leader whispered. "Blasted soul-suckers... Well, Mr. Potter, it looks like you were telling the truth. Your cousin bears all the marks of a recent Kiss victim. On that note... I'm afraid his body won't last very long. I'm sorry for your loss."

"No need," Harry said dryly.

"We need more people on this," the commanding Auror decided. "Grayson, go back to the Ministry and get one more team here. And request an obliviation squad too - there might be other witnesses. Sir." He turned to Moody. "May I inquire as to your presence here?"

"Potter's father fought with me in the last war. Thought I'd drop by and share some stories."

"Really?" the Auror asked skeptically.

"Really," Moody repeated, leveling his heavy gaze at the younger man.

The Auror fidgeted under Moody's stare.

"Fine," he said at last. "You may be called on as a witness in the investigation. Thank you for your cooperation, sir."

"Meaning 'piss off, you old fart'," Moody grumbled. "Think I'll stay here, just in case those damn wraiths come back."

The Auror blinked once, twice and shook his head in resignation. "Of course, we welcome your assistance. As for you, Mr. Potter, I have orders. And those orders say I have to snap your wand."

Harry's gaze hardened as he assumed a defensive stance.

"Then I'm afraid I'll have to resist arrest."

~~oOo~~

"Oh, I wish I could have seen that," Sirius grinned.

"That... doesn't quite sound like Harry," Mrs. Weasley said quietly.

"Dropped by to share stories? Seriously?" Tonks asked incredulously. "And they _bought_ that?"

"More like they didn't have the balls not to buy it," Sirius laughed.

~~oOo~~

Not long after the steel door of his cell closed behind Dumbledore, Harry's musings were interrupted again - this time by a large, bald, dark-skinned man.

The Auror flicked his wand, conjuring a small table in the middle of the room, followed by two chairs. He gestured for Harry to sit down on one of them.

"Mr. Potter," the Auror began, "my name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. I'm an Auror in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and will be conducting your interrogation."

"I have already been questioned," Harry said. "My answers have not changed in the past thirty minutes."

"The interrogation that took place at the scene was unofficial. Yes, your answers have been included in the preliminary report which I have read prior to coming here. I'm just following procedure."

"Very well. Ask your questions, Auror."

"You are not in charge here, Mr. Potter," the man said in a polite but firm tone.

"Of course. You are. My apologies."

If Shacklebolt noticed his sarcasm, he paid it no mind.

"Mr. Potter." He cleared his throat. "Around seven p.m. this afternoon, you cast two spells. Specifically the Fire Charm and then the Spell of Cursed Fire. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Are you aware that as a minor, you are forbidden from using magic outside Hogwarts until you turn seventeen?"

"I am."

"And you're aware that your actions today were in direct violation of the Decree for Reasonable Restrictions of Underage Sorcery?"

"Yes."

"And are you aware that due to the presence of a muggle, you were also acting in violation of the International Statute of Secrecy?"

Harry's lip twitched. "Yes."

"Now, can you tell me why you chose to use magic outside of school, thus breaking the law, despite knowing of the illegality of your actions?"

"I was fending off dementors."

Kingsley's face tensed. "Yes, dementors. The preliminary report mentioned that." There was a pause. "It also specified that the muggle witness was unfortunately Kissed. If nothing else, it confirms your story."

Harry stayed silent.

"Mr. Potter, do you know what spell is known to be most effective against dementors?"

"The Patronus Charm."

"Are you capable of casting it?"

That question was one that Harry didn't have an automatic answer to. He could, of course, say that yes, he was - he'd done it before, with spectacular results, one might say. But today was different. He suspected it might have been simply that he hadn't used the right memory and yet... he had felt nothing when he tried and failed to summon his patronus. No surge of magic like it should have happened, even when the spell failed.

_Eh, no reason to complicate things further._

"Yes."

"Why didn't you use it?"

"I did."

"The Trace didn't pick up a Patronus Charm."

"I wasn't aware the Trace was so accurate." In truth, he had no idea how the Trace worked or even what it was, exactly - but the Auror didn't know that.

"That is irrelevant. As I said, we detected no Patronus Charm cast in Little Whinging at any time today."

"I tried casting it. The spell failed - twice. It happens sometimes."

"Why didn't you try again?"

_You're going to have to do better than that._

"I was a little out of time, Auror," Harry said, sarcasm creeping into his voice again. "There were two soul-sucking flying zombies practically right in front of my face."

"So you used fire."

"Obviously," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"How did you know?"

"Excuse me, but how is this relevant?" Harry growled.

"Just answer the question, Mr. Potter," the Auror insisted.

Harry stared. Shacklebolt stared back.

"My third year Defense teacher once gave a lecture about the common methods of dealing with dementors."

"Did your Fire Charm manage to repel the dementors?"

"Yes, temporarily."

"So it didn't fail?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. What was this man fishing for?

"If it had, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Then if the Fire Charm was effective, why did you use Fiendfyre next?"

Harry considered his answer for a moment.

"The dementors were still coming after me. Fiendfyre is more powerful than the Fire Charm."

"It's also very difficult to control, beyond the ability of most wizards or witches. Certainly beyond the ability of a fifteen-year old."

_Oh, you did_ not _just go there._

"Is this a criminal interrogation or an assessment of my skills?" Harry asked icily. "Are you planning on recruiting me?"

"No, Mr. Potter, but-"

"Good. My aspirations run higher than a mere Auror anyways."

Shacklebolt took a deep, calming breath. "Are you aware that the Spell of Cursed Fire was classified as Dark by the Ministry?"

"I am now. Is it illegal?"

"It's Dark magic, Mr. Potter," the Auror reiterated.

"I heard you. But is it illegal?"

"All Dark magic is frowned upon and its usage by a minor is extremely troubling."

"You're evading the question, Auror Shacklebolt."

"You are not here to ask questions, Mr. Potter, but to answer them."

_Well... point for the Auror._

"Alright. Do you have any more questions?"

"Not at this time."

Shacklebolt stood up and so did Harry. The Auror then dispelled the conjured furniture.

"I am to inform you that in light of verifiable evidence of the dementors' presence, it is acknowledged that your actions fall under the Self Defense Clause of the Decree for Reasonable Restrictions of Underage Sorcery and as such you weren't in violation of that particular law."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"However, you still acted against the Statute of Secrecy."

"Debatable."

"You can take that up with the Wizengamot during your trial. I am also to tell you that the orders for your immediate expulsion from Hogwarts and the snapping of your wand have both been temporarily revoked and their execution or annulment will be decided in due course of your trial."

"Do I already have a court date, perhaps?"

"You do. Tomorrow morning."

~~oOo~~

The Dark Lord's eyes settled heavily on the Malfoy patriarch. Voldemort scrutinized his servant, looking for signs of falseness, but there were none. Malfoy was telling him the truth.

"So... Harry Potter was apprehended by the Ministry... On what charges?"

"Underage magic, my lord," Lucius said quickly. "And I was told there was a muggle witness. Fudge is building his case upon the Statute of Secrecy-"

"But why did Potter feel he had to use magic in the first place?"

"Dementors," Lucius explained. "Apparently there is evidence to support his claim, but Fudge will try to blow over it in court. At this time he just wants to destroy Potter's credibility."

"This is a lost cause," Voldemort stated. "Potter has Dumbledore on his side and while the old fool's influence has been lessened, it has not been eliminated."

"I've tried telling Fudge as much, my lord, but he won't listen. He hasn't been willing to listen to my advice as of late... He wants both Potter and Dumbledore discredited and he believes this case is his chance to accomplish that."

"Fudge is going to lose," the Dark Lord said. "It shall be your responsibility to mitigate any damage."

"I understand, my lord."

"Right now, I need your puppet Minister in a strong position, until we are ready to implement our own candidate. However, there is a positive side to this... for it ensures that Dumbledore will be distracted - perhaps too distracted to pay close attention to Potter himself, at least for a short time," the Dark Lord mused. "And that is an opportunity I shall not let go to waste... Anything else, Lucius?"

"Fudge wants to convene the Wizengamot to try Potter."

The Dark Lord's red eyes narrowed in anger.

"With the way Fudge is acting, he is going to discredit himself before anyone else," he growled. "We may need to accelerate our plans... Mulciber, what of Azkaban?"

"The have not upgraded security measures in years, my lord," the other Death Eater reported. "There is only a base garrison of twenty Aurors present at all times, mostly rookies... Common opinion in the Department is that a few months on guard duty in Azkaban helps toughen up the fresh graduates of Academy. The Ministry relies on dementors to do the actual guarding. Aurors only do rounds around the lower levels. We can attack at any time. Given that dementors will almost certainly join us, there will be little resistance."

"You have done well, Mulciber. You may leave."

The tall Death Eater bowed and left the room, leaving Lucius alone with the Dark Lord.

"If Potter will indeed be tried before the Wizengamot, I want you present at that trial, Lucius - and I shall expect a full report. There is little chance of Fudge winning, but if that should miraculously happen, I will need to know as soon as possible."

"Of course, my lord."

"You are dismissed."

Malfoy bowed, even lower than Mulciber, and quickly exited, leaving Voldemort to his thoughts.

_Harry Potter... You have shown more competence than one could expect from a child... But we shall see how you fare when faced with a_ real _challenge._

~~oOo~~

The Head Auror flipped through the thin file rapidly.

"You want my opinion on this, Amelia?" he asked his superior.

"Yes, Rufus," she insisted.

"There's nothing in here," Scrimgeour declared, throwing the folder back on the desk. "We've already admitted that the Decree for Restrictions doesn't apply and any case build solely upon the Statute will be shoddy at best. The worst we've done to adult witches and wizards in breach of it was giving them a fine. Bringing this before the Wizengamot will make Fudge a laughing stock. But you didn't need me, Amelia. You knew all that before I even got here."

"That's true," Amelia nodded. "I was just hoping that a trained Auror could offer some unusual insight. Something I might have missed."

"We both know criminal law forwards and backwards. There is no insight to be had. The Minister is trying to build a case when there isn't one. Personally, I think this is just his paranoia acting up. And the interrogation was-"

"You don't need to tell me." Amelia sighed with frustration. "Shacklebolt was specifically requested to handle it by the Minister. Then that cow Umbridge gave him a list of questions to ask. She wants to exaggerate the fact that he knows Dark magic, but who doesn't know one or two questionable spells? Fiendfyre is dangerous, but not restricted. And barely legal is still legal."

"In short," Scrimgeour continued, "they can't touch Potter. Truth is, Fudge would stand a better chance of getting a conviction if he agreed to have this handled by the Department, but he's dragging the boy in front of the Wizengamot - for underage magic! Anyone associated with this case is in for a smear on their record."

"Yes, thank you, Rufus," Amelia said, gritting her teeth. "That's exactly what I needed to hear."

Scrimgeour raised his eyebrows. "Are you..."

"I'm prosecuting."

"Then you have my sympathies. But look on the bright side - with the Prophet pandering to Fudge, it won't get out of the Ministry."

"Wonderful," Amelia snorted. "Makes me feel a little less miserable."

~~oOo~~

After a night spent in the cell, Harry was hardly in the mood to face a panel of judges, wearing the same clothes as yesterday. He suspected if Fudge was behind all this, then it all played right into his hands - after all, appearances were important in the world of politics and this 'case' was a political maneuver, nothing more, nothing less. An opportunity for the Minister to paint him as a criminal as well as a liar.

Harry had no intention of playing nice. He'd had enough of the Prophet mocking him this summer and the trial was the perfect setting for him to make his first move. He couldn't afford to waste any more time. If the information he got from Sirius was accurate, then Voldemort wasn't sitting idly by, there were plans in motion mere hours after his resurrection.

The picture Harry stitched together of the Order's activities during the first war from the little snippets and short stories that Sirius had shared was not to his liking - both the Order and the Ministry were focused on reacting to Voldemort's moves and trying to minimize the damage. He had every intention of being proactive. And that meant that he couldn't run with Dumbledore's crowd. Well, that didn't mean they couldn't still work toward a mutual goal, but the policy of simply doing his best to fix whatever Voldemort broke wasn't one that Harry was willing to employ.

His watch indicated seven forty-five when a pair of Aurors came in and cuffed his hands behind his back before escorting him out of the cell. The large black man from the day before wasn't one of them.

He was led through a series of corridors into a tiny room - even smaller than the cell - with only one chair in it. Not an ordinary chair, however. This one was made entirely of matte black metal; heavy chains hung from its sides. He was released from the cuffs and ordered to sit down. As soon as he did, the chains came alive, binding him tightly to the chair. He felt a nauseating sensation when the bonds snapped into place, as if his magic was being dulled out somehow.

"The magic inhibitors are working," he heard one of the Aurors mutter.

"Everything is ready. Let's go."

As soon as the door shut behind them, there was a deep rumble - and the segment of the floor upon which the chair stood started moving upwards into... a cage?

~~oOo~~

Lucius watched, his face blank, as Potter, chained down more securely than a hardened criminal, was lifted into the cage in the center of the chamber. He wanted to walk up to Fudge and shake this ridiculous paranoia out of him.

Potter might have been slandered regularly in the Prophet, but that made him more of a running joke than a public enemy. Fudge himself wasn't sure how to have his main propaganda tool portray the boy - as a victim of Dumbledore's manipulation or an accomplice to the old fool's schemes. Because of that uncertainty, many tended to ignore the Ministry's ramblings more and more as time went - and that was _undesirable_.

Fudge was continuing the trend initiated by Skeeter's articles from spring, but with that gossip hag gone - where was she anyway when actually needed? - he was doing a poor job of it. Right now he wanted everyone to see Potter as a criminal, which the boy obviously wasn't. Lucius couldn't count how many times he'd bribed Hopkirk after Draco had had an 'accident' outside the safety of Malfoy Manor. According to the law - that desperately needed updating to more modern standards - his son should have gone to Azkaban a long time ago for breaking the Statute of Secrecy repeatedly.

And now with Potter caged and in chains, both of which were designed to prevent escape and block the magic of the person inside, he would garner public sympathy rather than contempt. This truly was a lost cause and he, Lucius, would have to deal with the consequences of Fudge's stupidity, because of course that idiot would run to 'his dear friend Lucius' for advice once his popularity started to plummet over this farce. Just perfect.

Lucius barely kept himself from groaning in frustration. The Dark Lord wasn't going to like this.

~~oOo~~

Harry needed every ounce of his willpower to keep focused on what was going on around him and from hyperventilating. He'd become so adjusted to the flow of magic through his body in the past few years that when it was suddenly blocked, it made breathing difficult and felt exceedingly unpleasant overall.

"The disciplinary hearing of thirty-first July of Harry James Potter of Privet Drive 4, Little Whinging, Surrey, brought in on charges of illegal usage of Dark magic and violation of the International Statute of Secrecy of 1692."

Harry recognized the voice of Cornelius Fudge and looked up to where it was coming from.

The Minister sat surrounded by warlocks of the Wizengamot, wearing a scowling grimace. Below him sat a familiar figure, focused on the Dicta-Quill dancing across parchment.

_What in hell is Percy doing here?_

"...prosecutor, Madam Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones. The accused..." Here Fudge glared at Harry. "...is present. Now, let's make this quick. I have no time to waste on criminals. Mr. Potter!"

Harry blinked and focused on breathing steadily. "Yes?"

"Do you deny that yesterday, at approximately seven o'clock in the afternoon, you used Fiendfyre in the presence of a muggle, thus breaking a number of laws, including international law?"

"No, Minister."

"And you performed this Dark magic knowingly and in full awareness of the illegality of your actions?"

"Correct."

Fudge looked around with a righteous expression on his face. "Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, the case is clear. I call for a vote-"

"Not so fast," Harry interrupted.

"Excuse me, Potter?" Fudge snapped. "Did you say something?"

"Where's my legal counsel? Aren't I entitled to a lawyer?"

There was a murmur of consent among the warlocks. Harry thought fast what his next words should be, before Fudge had a chance to recover.

"Well, in the absence of one, I'll be my own defender. I would like to present my own version of the events-"

"Your testimony was already taken-"

"And were the members of this court made aware of its contents?" Harry demanded loudly. Fudge was glaring daggers at him.

"I don't have all day to spend on this case, Mr. Potter!"

"Neither do I, so let's move it along, shall we?" Harry retorted. "Yesterday, at around seven p.m. I indeed used Fiendfyre - to drive off dementors. And before someone asks," he added, seeing a few warlocks rising from their seats, "yes I can perform the Patronus Charm. But it doesn't always work! So I used the next best thing - fire."

"Blatantly boasting about practicing Dark magic-"

"I think when faced with dementors, the very real possibility of having your soul sucked out takes precedence before not using powerful magic in self-defense, Minister," Harry said venomously.

"Perhaps," Fudge said, "but there is still the issue of the muggle witness, Potter!"

"The muggle witness? You must mean my cousin who was Kissed, right?"

Harry could almost feel the atmosphere of hostility switch from him to Fudge.

"I wasn't informed-" Fudge sputtered.

"Oh come on!" Harry exclaimed. "You're the _Minister for Magic_ and you _weren't informed?_ I find that hard to believe."

"When you say it was your cousin, Mr. Potter," a new voice rose above the commotion. "Do you mean that this person knew of your being a wizard prior to the... prior to yesterday?"

"It would be kind of hard to hide it, considering we lived under one roof," Harry sneered.

"Minister," Amelia Bones said slowly, "this is a significant piece of information. Family members knowledgeable of our world are excluded from the muggle witness status of the Statute."

"Does it matter, Amelia?" Fudge argued. "The boy still used Dark magic, we can't just let that slide-"

"Why wasn't I informed of this?" The woman's voice could cut steel. "As the prosecutor, I should have been told about all the details of this case."

"I have one more question," Harry interjected. Amelia Bones' gaze snapped to him immediately.

"More revelations, Mr. Potter?"

"That depends. Why were there two dementors in Little Whinging yesterday? Aren't they confined to Azkaban, unless ordered otherwise by the Ministry?"

"This is not about what dementors do or don't, Potter-" Fudge began, but was immediately cut off by Harry.

"I would like to know what grave offense I have committed that someone felt sending them after me was justified."

The courtroom fell into silence.

"It's an interesting question, isn't it? I mean-"

"_Hem hem._"

All heads turned to a plump witch with the face of a toad.

"I must have misunderstood you, Mr. Potter."

"Oh? Please clarify."

"The dementors are controlled by the Ministry of Magic. Are you suggesting that someone in the Ministry dispatched two of them to apprehend you?"

"I wouldn't say they were trying to 'apprehend' me," Harry countered.

"Because I think if someone did send two dementors to Little Whinging, then there would have been an appropriate notification in the files."

"There isn't one?" Harry asked mockingly. "Well, the other possibility is that dementors aren't under the Ministry's control anymore."

There were several audible gasps. "Preposterous!" someone shouted. "Azkaban is secure!"

"As much as Mr. Potter's words worry me," Amelia Bones interrupted, "the Minister is right. This isn't about dementors, but about justice for Mr. Potter."

"Well, Amelia?" Fudge glared at the woman. "_Will_ there be justice?"

"Certainly. The evidence points to your guilt, young man," she said, looking straight at Harry.

_What?_ he thought. _She can't be serious!_

"You used a highly dangerous spell, potentially endangering yourself and others. For that, you are penalized with a fine of five hundred galleons."

"Now, the vote-"

"No need, Minister," Amelia said coolly. "Mr. Potter's actions clearly fall under the Self Defense clause of the Decree for Reasonable Restrictions of Underage Sorcery. And since the muggle witness was a family member, there was no violation of the Statute of Secrecy."

"There might have been other witnesses."

"According to the report I received yesterday, there were none. Under the circumstances, prosecution finds Mr. Potter guilty of recklessly casting a dangerous spell for which a fine was already issued. Five hundred galleons payable to one of the Ministry's Gringotts accounts within a week. Prosecution drops the other charges against Mr. Potter."

Harry held back a smile. From what little he'd found out from Sirius about the Wizengamot, if prosecution dropped charges, then there was no case and no vote. In other words, he won.

Fudge must have understood that he was beaten. He struck his desk with the gavel with considerably more force than was necessary. "Case closed. The court may disassemble. Aurors... please release Mr. Potter and escort him out."

The chair then sunk back below the court chamber and the moment it hit the floor in the tiny space below, the chains fell down, restoring the blissful feeling of magic coursing through Harry's body.

He took a deep breath. "Never again. Not this shit."

"Mr. Potter," one of the Auror guards began, "we will-"

"Escort me out, yes, excellent," Harry said. "I would have my wand back."

"Erm, I-"

"_Now._"

"I don't have it on me," the Auror said quickly. "It will be returned to you when we pass the security checkpoint-"

Harry pushed past the man, shoving him aside. Looking around, he spotted what looked like a lift to his right.

"Is that the way out?" he snapped at the other Auror irritably.

"Yes. Follow me, Mr. Potter."

Within seconds, they were in the lift moving upward and within minutes, back in the lavishly decorated atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Harry was once again awed by the rich interior. Looking around, it was hard to believe it was all underground.

At the security checkpoint, Harry snatched his wand from the nervous clerk's hands.

"We have orders to escort you to your residence," one of the Aurors said.

"Just take me where you found me yesterday, thanks," Harry said. "You were one of those who arrested me, right?"

The young Auror nodded. "I can take it from here, sir," he told his superior. "I'll take Mr. Potter back to Little Whinging."

"Very well. Just make it quick."

Not long after, Harry was back at the deserted playground. The Auror looked uncomfortable.

"You know, if you have a question, you can just ask," Harry said. "I don't guarantee an answer though."

"Not a question... I'm just very sorry for your loss. It must be awful-"

"Loss? What loss? I won, didn't I?" Harry snorted. "No, wait, I didn't _win_. I _flattened_ the Minister, but don't tell anyone I said that."

"Uh, I meant your cousin."

Harry blinked rapidly in surprise. _I completely forgot._ "Oh yes, my... cousin. Well, I'm sure he's, ah, in a better place now..."

_Vernon and Petunia must already know. I wonder how they took it..._

"Well, I'll be going, then," the Auror said with a nod at Harry.

Harry stopped him. "Wait. What's your name?"

He clearly did not expect that. "Ekhem. Dell Grayson, Auror-in-training."

_I'll remember that, Auror-in-training Grayson._ "Was just curious. Have a nice day."

"You too, Mr. Potter. And again, I'm very sorry."

Grayson's robes swirled around him and he disapparated with a crack. Harry turned on his heel as well, facing the general direction of Privet Drive 4.

_And so it begins._

~~oOo~~

"I will not tolerate insubordination from anyone in the Ministry, Amelia!" Fudge roared. "Especially in DMLE! We need to present a united front if we're to make it through the crisis!"

"What crisis, Minister?" Bones asked skeptically. "Do you mean your completely baseless claim that Dumbledore desires your job?"

"How dare you!" Fudge sputtered in rage, his bowler flying next to her head and flopping against the wall. "I have done what I must to protect this country from Dumbledore's machinations-"

"Anything you have done since taking up the office was to preserve your position, Cornelius!" Amelia exclaimed. "You _disgust_ me."

"Is this how it's going to be?" The Minister's face reddened. "In that case, I shall expect your resignation on my desk tomorrow morning. You can clear out your office, Amelia. Rufus, you will take over the Department," Fudge snapped at the man in the corner.

"And what about the Auror Office?" Scrimgeour grumbled. "Besides, I think this is not a decision to be made hastily, Cor-"

"Shacklebolt," Fudge interrupted. "He's competent, isn't he? And loyal to the Ministry. He's earned this promotion in any case."

"I shall take that as my cue to leave," Amelia said coolly. "Good day to you, _Minister._ Rufus." She nodded at her colleague. "Good luck with your new job."

When the door clicked shut behind her, the Minister flew into a spitting rage again.

"Who does she think she is!" he erupted. "I am the Minister for Magic, the leader of this country and she dares-"

"You might have misinterpreted her words, but it's too late now," Rufus commented. "And in all honesty, I'm inclined to agree with her on this one."

"Wha-"

"Listen, Cornelius!" Scrimgeour urged. "She might have gone against you, but it doesn't make her wrong! You should have given her _all_ the details. And whose idea was it to bring Potter in for trial on the charges of underage magic in front of the full Wizengamot? I know you're smarter than this!"

"Dolores suggested it."

"I should known," the newly nominated Director growled. "That woman is a menace, Cornelius, I always said that. You should be kicking _her_ out flat on her face, not Amelia!"

"She build the case against Potter!" the Minister argued. "It was the perfect opportunity to silence him, but no, Amelia had to be _righteous_-"

"You had no case! It was just a random occurence, not a golden opportunity! And now you have handed yourself to the Prophet on a silver platter."

"I'll block anything they cook up," Fudge said immediately. "The Prophet-"

"The Prophet is still part of the free media. You can only use it for your propaganda campaign for so long. Don't fool yourself - this will get out and your reputation _will_ suffer."

"What was I supposed to do then, Rufus?" Fudge demanded.

Scrimgeour didn't immediately answer. Personally, he disagreed with Fudge on most things, but he wasn't going to antagonize the man, not now, when he's just been given command of the DMLE...

"I don't know, Cornelius. You are the Minister, aren't you?"

There was a characteristic 'ping' sound. The Minister turned to his desk and pressed a golden button sunk into the surface.

"Yes?"

"Minister, Chief Unspeakable Croaker is here with the report you requested."

"Send him in."

The door opened, revealing a man in his sixties, with neatly groomed grey hair, clad in the nondescript black robes of an Unspeakable.

"Minister. Head Auror," the man greeted.

"Algernon." Scrimgeour responded with a nod. "Fancy seeing you here. You're paler than a vampire. Do you go outside at all?"

"I do, on holidays."

"Algernon, you don't celebrate holidays."

"And that's how often I get out," Croaker said dismissively. "The pulse was nothing unusual, Minister... well, the fact that it came from the boy may seem unusual, but-"

"What's this about?" Scrimgeour asked.

"When Potter's trial ended, there was a surge of magic," Fudge explained quickly. "It looked suspicious, so I had it looked into."

"Like I said, nothing sinister. Just the regular reaction from a person being released from the magic-inhibiting chains."

Fudge's eyes went wide like sickles. "But- I have been present dozens of times when prisoners were released and I have never felt something like this before!"

"Potter didn't spend much time in that chair, but more than enough for his magic to become stifled. So, when he was released from the chains, his magic was as well."

"Impossible! That would mean-"

"That this boy is a powerful one indeed. Hardly an anomaly, however. Exceptionally magically powerful people come along from time to time. That's where wizards like Dumbledore come from," Croaker explained, unfazed by the revelation.

"And this doesn't concern you?" Fudge asked.

"Minister, with all due respect, I work with more powerful and sinister magics daily. Will that be all? I'd prefer to get back to work, if you don't mind..."

"Yes, Algernon, thank you."

Once the door closed shut behind the Unspeakable, Fudge gave his subordinate a frightful look. "Rufus," he began, "I really don't need _another_ Dumbledore right now."

Scrimgeour didn't have a straight answer for the man he was quite close to despising.

_Perhaps you don't... but this country could use someone to give it a shake. _

~~oOo~~

Harry opened the front door to find Privet Drive 4 eerily silent. He walked down the hallway, looking around, until he got to the kitchen. Dumbledore was there, sitting at the table with a cup of tea.

"Good morning, Harry."

"Headmaster," Harry replied, stifling a yawn. He didn't get much sleep last night. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find it in himself to fall asleep in the uncomfortable cell in the middle of what was, as far as he was concerned, enemy territory. "How has your summer been so far?"

"Busy," Dumbledore answered. "I trust you didn't waste time yourself."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry said. "Not with a Dark Lord on the loose."

"I'm afraid both our schedules are bound to get even busier."

"So that means I'm leaving? At last." He rolled his eyes.

"Harry," Dumbledore spoke softly, "I regret to inform you that your cousin's body has given out earlier today. He passed away."

"If I'm to be brutally honest, sir, it's no great loss. He bullied me."

"I understand there is no lost love between you and your family-"

"I would hardly call them my family, Headmaster," Harry interjected. "They sure never acted like one."

"-but I'm afraid that if you want to pay your respects, it shall have to wait until the funeral. You will be exceedingly busy for the next few days."

"Where are Vernon and Petunia anyway?"

"They are currently at a funeral home," Dumbledore explained, "arranging the burial ceremony."

"If at all possible, Headmaster, I'd rather not stay here any longer than it's absolutely necessary, so if you'll excuse me, I'll go pack-"

"I've taken care of it," the Headmaster, flicking his wand and Harry's trunk floated up from behind the table. "Now, we really must go. But of course I have informed your friends to give you time to mourn your cousin."

"Professor," Harry said, his expression hardened. "If you're half as smart as everyone claims you are, you know exactly how my life with the Dursleys looked like before this summer. So please, stop talking about those wastes of air in my presence."

"Harry," the Headmaster said quietly. "For what it's worth... I'm very sorry for what you had to endure. And I'm also very proud of you that you did."

"I'm guessing it took courage to look me in the eye and admit your mistake," Harry replied sharply. "But I'm afraid that's too little, too late. Let's just go."

"As you wish." Dumbledore finished his tea and stood up. "Read this and remember."

Harry caught the piece of parchment the Headmaster sent his way. "The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at Grimmauld Place Twelve," he recited. "Is that place really as grim as Sirius claims?"

Dumbledore's eyes glinted with understanding. "Ah, yes. Sirius mentioned you've been corresponding."

"I wanted to be kept in the loop," Harry shrugged. "Shall we?"

"If you would take my arm," the Headmaster said.

Harry did and the world dissolved into a myriad of colors.


	4. Dissent, Part 2

.

**CHAPTER ONE: Dissent**

**Part 2**

Harry's shoes hit grass.

"Does apparition always feel like this?" he asked irritably.

"Only the first few dozen times," Dumbledore said with a small chuckle.

"Bloody brilliant," Harry muttered under his breath. "Where are we anyway?"

"In the backyard. It's within the range of the Fidelius Charm and makes for an excellent apparition point."

The Headmaster pointed to a door.

"This is the rear entrance. The kitchen should still be empty, at least for a few more minutes, so we shall have a moment of undisturbed privacy." His blue eyes found Harry's. "I would like to talk, if that's alright with you."

Harry weighed his options. Dumbledore would likely ask how he learned about Fiendfyre and he'd rather not say. He wasn't really in a position to refuse, however, and who knew - he might learn something as well.

"I don't see why not."

They entered the long, narrow kitchen. Dumbledore swished and flicked his wand and two steaming mugs of chocolate landed in front of them. Harry took a sip from his.

"Thank you, sir." He drummed his fingers on the table. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Firstly, I want you to know that I was truly impressed by how you handled yourself in court today."

Harry raised a curious eyebrow. "I didn't see you in the courtroom."

"I was sitting in the higher rows," Dumbledore explained. "Your attention was focused elsewhere. And before you ask, they may have replaced me as a Chief Warlock, but I still have a place in the Wizengamot and that is not something even Minister Fudge can easily take away. I came straight to Little Whinging afterwards."

"Why not meet me in the Ministry?"

"I wanted to avoid causing a scene," the Headmaster replied.

"Makes sense," Harry agreed. "But you didn't just want to congratulate me on winning a trial that I had a very slim chance of losing."

The twinkle in the blue eyes faltered slightly.

"That's true," Dumbledore said. "You have become more perceptive recently."

"A lot of things have changed recently," Harry said with a shrug.

"And that's what I wanted to talk to you about." There was a pause. "I can't help but notice that you haven't been replying to your friends' letters."

Harry stiffened for a moment. True, he received letters from Hermione, Ron, even one or two from Ginny, but he'd been too focused on the ones from Sirius and Voldemort's memories to pay them any attention.

"I was busy. This is between me and them."

"I do not wish to meddle in your relationships with friends, Harry. I would merely caution you not to throw away what few friendships you have," the Headmaster said thoughtfully.

"I'll take your advice into consideration, sir," Harry said dismissively. "But I still don't think that's the reason behind this conversation. To put it bluntly, let's stop beating around the bush."

"Very well." Dumbledore looked at him over his mug. "I cannot help but wonder at your knowledge of rather advanced and dangerous magic."

_And there it is._

"I'm not going to make up some half-baked lie, Headmaster," Harry said, setting his mug of chocolate on the table a bit too forcefully. "You would likely see through it right away. But I'm not about to spill every last secret either. And I doubt you expected me to defeat Voldemort with fourth-year spells."

"I appreciate your honesty," Dumbledore said. "And I understand your reasoning. After all, everyone knows that I don't share everything I know."

"We're on the same page, then."

"I'm only asking you to be careful. I don't doubt your ability. Just please be aware that with youth come certain limitations, no matter how much your track record seems to be to the contrary. When I was your age, I too started discovering powerful magic and grow independent. I wouldn't have become what I am today without it…"

"One doesn't simply learn to start a fire without burning one's fingers," Harry put in.

"...but if I can, I would spare you the unnecessary mistakes," Dumbledore finished. "Those who don't learn about history, are doomed to repeat it. I would be glad to give you a few history lessons. Or something else, perhaps."

_Is he offering to train me?_

"You would teach me?" Harry asked, taken by surprise.

"If you want, yes. You don't need to decide right now." Dumbledore corrected the glasses on his nose. "Think about it and let me know. In the meantime… be careful."

Harry took a moment to find the right answer.

"I understand that becoming a powerful wizard has a steep learning curve, sir," he said, "and I appreciate your concern. But... can you reach your full potential without making some mistakes along the way?"

"Many witches and wizards spent years studying time-travel in trying to answer that very question."

"And did any of them succeed?" Harry asked skeptically.

"We may never know," Dumbledore said with a smile. "After all, we can't state with absolute certainty that our present reality isn't someone else's second attempt at life."

"Interesting. And also more than a little freaky."

"It's the same with perfect crimes, Harry," Dumbledore said matter-of-factly. "If a crime is perfect, then it was probably meant to never be found out about. That said, it is quite possible that perfect crimes are committed all the time."

"Well, Headmaster… I don't know how far back in time I would need to travel to make a difference, so I'll take my chances against Voldemort as they are."

"I think you underestimate yourself," Dumbledore said with a serious undertone. "I believe you're quite capable of improving your chances against him."

~~oOo~~

Dumbledore left after finishing his chocolate, but not before wishing Harry a happy birthday.

"I see you forgot," he said, smiling gently. "Understandable, with all that's happened. Your friends certainly didn't however. I believe there may be a party in plans for the evening."

He left then, promising to drop by for the aforementioned party. Harry himself wasn't particularly looking forward to it - in all honesty, he'd much rather take the time to have a good, long conversation with Sirius about all the things they covered only in barest detail in the letters.

As soon as the back door closed behind Dumbledore, the door at the other end opened wide and a stream of people poured in. It took a moment before anyone noticed Harry sitting at the table with a cup of chocolate and a frown on his face.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed in surprise.

"Harry?" someone else asked, clearly stumped by his sudden appearance.

But it was Hermione's reaction that was the most surprising.

"Harry!" she shrieked, before breaking into a short sprint, her momentum almost toppling over his chair when she threw her arms around him. Harry had enough sense to put the mug back on the table and then Hermione was holding onto him as if both their lives depended on it.

"I am also very excited to be here," he mumbled from inside the embrace.

"Oh!" Hermione backed off. "Sorry, I'm just- we were all so worried about you... and then the dementors-"

"I handled it," Harry interrupted her. "Water under the bridge."

Only then did Hermione realize that everyone had been watching her outburst of enthusiasm with amused expressions. They had come to know her as a rather controlled person.

Ginny spared her friend further scrutiny by following Hermione's example and soon everyone settled in for breakfast. Harry moved to the edge of the table where he could talk quietly to Sirius with minimal interruption. He was slightly annoyed by Hermione's close proximity and the fact that she devoted her absolute attention to him, thus disallowing him and Sirius to touch on any really important subjects. He'd rather keep those things secret, at least for now. Hermione would undoubtedly want to help and when she realized they were planning to employ methods that were any less than noble, she'd likely report everything to Dumbledore. Her undying faith in authority figures got on Harry's nerves a little.

And he felt especially irritated when she chastised him for taking matters into his own hands.

"You should have waited for Professor Dumbledore," she insisted. "There was no need to spend a night in a _cell_. And that way, you might have had more time to prepare your case. You know I would've helped you-"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted again, "you seem to be forgetting one important fact."

She raised an eyebrow.

"_I won._"

"That doesn't make your actions any less reckless. Honestly Harry-"

"Can you cut the lecture?" Harry snapped. "In case you didn't notice, Sirius and I are trying to have a conversation."

Hermione blushed at the remark. "Oh... Sorry. I'll just- give you some space then."

"Much appreciated."

She turned her attention to Lupin.

"That was a little harsh," Sirius observed.

"No other way would have worked," Harry replied. "Trust me, I know her well enough."

"Well, you can't blame a girl for liking you," Sirius continued, winking at him.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Whatever that was supposed to mean, I missed it."

Sirius grinned. "She likes you."

"We're friends. I don't think she'd spend the last four years at Hogwarts in my company if she didn't like me."

"Oh no. I meant she _likes_ you."

Harry snorted. "What are you-"

"And she's not the only one," Sirius finished, pointing discreetly at someone across the table. Harry looked in that direction and his eyes landed on Ginny, who, upon being caught watching him, blushed and looked away.

"You mean... seriously?"

"Trust me," Sirius said nonchalantly. "I'm good at this relationship stuff."

"Oh, I'm sure," Harry retorted.

"Well, I have eyes," Sirius insisted, "and I'd watched your parents behave out of character for the entire seventh year. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about."

Harry paused to think.

"So what would you advise?"

"Pick one and have a great time. If it doesn't work, you always have the other to, ah... _fall back on._"

"I didn't have you pegged for a shameless womanizer," Harry whispered.

"Well, James was a serial monogamist, Remus was always shy. Peter..." He grimaced at the mention of the traitor. "Peter was a walking disaster when it came to the ladies... _someone_ had to do it."

"And I bet it was such a burden," Harry said with a chuckle.

"Hey." Sirius raised his hands in defense. "I only advertise the truth."

Harry looked on skeptically.

"When necessary," Sirius added.

When the inevitable questions came, Harry used the excuse given to him - if inadvertently - by Dumbledore.

"The Headmaster trusts me enough not to interrogate me," he announced to everyone, "and I'm not in the mood for answering questions anyway."

As the meal came to an end, Sirius inclined his head and spoke quietly, "I think your friends expect a more concrete answer than that."

"If they can't trust me, then they're not really my friends, are they?" Harry snapped in response.

"I'm just saying," Sirius whispered, "that perhaps you should deal with them now so _we_ can talk later."

Harry blinked in realization. "Maybe you're right."

With that, he stood up from the table and gave both Hermione and Ron a significant look. They quickly excused themselves as well, drawing a few badly concealed amused glances from the members of the Order. Harry was sure he could guess what they were thinking.

_Ah, those kids, they think they're so inconspicuous. Let them have their fun, as long as they leave the important matters to us adults._

Well, he couldn't care less about their misconceptions. Voldemort was the real problem.

Ron led them to a room on the second floor that he was supposed to be sharing with Harry. Once the door was closed, he sat down on his bed, waiting for either of his friends to say something. Hermione gave Harry another breath-depriving hug. Harry spotted Ron tense up in the corner of his vision.

Was Ron _jealous?_

Goddamn teenage hormones. Was he the only person in Britain below the age of twenty who actually cared that there was a Dark Lord gallivanting through the country?

_Please, Ron, you can have her. As long as you keep her from poking her nose where I don't want it. _

"Harry, I didn't want to say it in front of everyone..." Hermione began.

_I'm not sure I want to hear whatever it is even now._

"...I'm so sorry!" she said. "I know our letters were useless and I don't blame you for stopping answering them, it's just that Dumbledore made us promise we wouldn't write about anything important-"

"He said it wasn't safe," Ron put in.

"-so we just stuck to whatever he allowed us to write."

Harry almost felt disappointed. He was expecting something more... substantial.

"Whatever," he said with a shrug. "I'm here now, so it doesn't matter anymore."

"You- you're not angry with us?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Yeah... we've prepared ourselves for a chewing out and a lot of shouting. We know how you hate not knowing stuff-"

"I think you're confusing me with Miss Granger here, Ron," Harry said smoothly. Hermione blushed a deep crimson and swatted him on the arm.

"Shush, you," she said, trying to keep embarrassment out of her voice.

"Yeah... but like you said, we're together again, so... what's the plan?" Ron asked eagerly.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "'What's the plan?' I beg your pardon?"

"Oh you know-"

"No, I don't know, Ronald," Harry interrupted. He turned back to Hermione. "What is he talking about?"

"We thought... with how you handled the trial by yourself, you wanted to take a more... active role than Professor Dumbledore would allow you to. So, we want to help."

Harry shook his head. "No. You've got this all wrong. Yes, there are plans in the making, but, well... you're not included."

"What?" Ron looked at him with the expression of utter betrayal. "You're barking-"

"Ron," Harry said. "This was all well and good while it lasted, but Voldemort is back now and the stakes are much, much higher. No offense to you both, but I'll need people with more experience and ability to help me with that."

"Harry... you don't have to do everything by yourself. I mean, I know you prefer to solve your own problems, but You-Know-Who isn't just a danger to you."

"Hermione," Harry snarled. "Use your vaunted logic. You would only be in the way."

"Hey!" Ron protested. "That's not fair, mate! Hermione's been a lot of help in all the crazy adventures. We wouldn't have got half as far without her!"

"You're right about one thing, Ronald," Harry growled. "Yes, we've had some adventures. But the time for those is over. Now, we're at war."

"Harry," Hermione said, "let's just all take a deep breath and stop for a moment. Nobody wants to argue-"

"Speak for yourself, Hermione!" Ron snapped. "I'll bloody well argue when my best mate is being a git!"

"Something you would know about," Harry retorted.

"That was low, Harry," Hermione chided. "Ron's only trying to help. We both are."

_Ah, screw it._

"Hermione," he said, turning to her. "let me tell you something. I was able to handle the trial by myself because I've been corresponding with Sirius since the school ended. Thanks to his information, I probably know more about the Order and its activities than you do. Tonks passed letters between Sirius and I, so there was none of the risk you claimed stopped you from writing about anything important."

"Harry, I didn't think-"

"_Precisely,_" Harry spat venomously. "You didn't think. And by not thinking you proved that deep down, you are still a little girl who just happened to stumble into some dangerous situations in the past. Both you and Ron would be useless to whatever plans I'll make and more likely than not you wouldn't have the stomach to help with their execution. You have to understand, Hermione, that people will _die_ in this conflict. This isn't about combing the library for answers anymore. All bets are off and I can't risk you running to Dumbledore whenever I step out of whatever lines he draws."

"Harry, I would never-"

"Spare me vows made in heat of the moment. Everyone in this house knows that you revere Albus Dumbledore as little less than a saint. But Dumbledore won't approve of everything I'll do to fight Voldemort and so I can't risk this getting out. Ergo, you two will stay out of my way. If the Order takes you in, then please, go ahead. From what I've heard, they adhere to Dumbledore's policy of redemption and second chances. I do not. I will not. You don't win wars by dragging the enemy over to your side. You win by _exterminating the other side._"

With that, Harry left, slamming the door behind him. It was time he talked to Sirius.

~~oOo~~

He went back downstairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. Sirius had warned him about his mother's portrait and he wasn't in the mood for encounters with foul-mouthed paintings.

The house seemed empty and quiet - the Orders members had left for work and assignments and the rest spread out throughout various rooms. In the kitchen, he met Mrs. Weasley cleaning up after lunch.

"Harry, dear," she said with a warm smile. "Are you still hungry? You left early-"

"No thanks," he interrupted her. "I'm looking for Sirius."

"I think he's in the library. Just down the hall, last door to your left."

He followed the directions and found the much talked about Black library. He knocked and immediately the door flew open. Sirius grinned, and pulled him inside.

"Come in," he said, grinning. "Welcome to the hive of knowledge most terrible. You're only the second person to set foot inside since my mother died."

Almost every inch of the walls covered by bookshelves. In the middle was a comfortable looking sofa and two matching armchairs sitting in front of the only section of one wall not occupied by books but a large, decorative fireplace. Fire was crackling in it, casting small shadows all over the room.

"Take a seat. We have a lot to discuss."

He closed the door behind Harry and tapped it with his wand. Instantly, Harry felt the magic shift in the air.

"What was that?"

Sirius smiled smugly. "This room has been used for plotting and scheming by many generations of Blacks. The walls are soaked with enchantments meant to guarantee protection and privacy. They can only be activated from the inside by someone with Black blood and only the person who enabled the magic in the first place can dispel it afterward."

"That was many words to say that we can now talk without anyone disturbing us," Harry commented.

Sirius fell back into the armchair. "I used to hate this place when I was a kid, but I'd be lying if I said it's not a neat little fortress. You want tea? Kreacher!"

There was a crack and the ugliest house elf Harry had ever seen appeared. He was obviously very old – sagging skin and the filthy piece of cloth he wore were testament to that – and probably demented, if one judged by the way he muttered insults, clearly directed at Sirius.

"Mudblood-lover shouldn't call himself Master..."

"Shut up, Kreacher," Sirius snapped. "Brings us some tea."

The elf disappeared and came back half a minute later, carrying a large, silver tray with a steaming teapot and bowl of biscuits. Harry took one as Sirius poured them tea.

"I can't help but notice that your house elf is probably overdue for his retirement."

"Who, Kreacher?" Sirius looked up. "Ah, he's a disgusting little backstabber, but I keep him around because he's loyal to the Black family and for all his flaws, he's good at what he does. Besides it's not like I can get another house elf. You need to be not a wanted criminal for that."

"Have I told you about Dobby?" Harry asked idly. "He's… overenthusiastic, sometimes, but he likes me."

Sirius waved it off. "We can talk about finding a replacement for Kreacher once I'm free. Which, I believe is one of the things we should discuss."

"Yes," Harry said, setting down his teacup. "You'll be much more useful as a free man and I think there is a way to get you a fair trial without Wormtail in custody."

"What, you're gonna threaten the Wizengamot?" Sirius snorted. "Harry, I love you to bits, but-" he stopped abruptly, seeing his godson's stony face. "You want to threaten the Wizengamot into hearing me out?" He goggled at Harry.

"Yes, actually," Harry said. "After what I've seen today, I'd say they are an easy lot to threaten or manipulate. Isn't that what Lucius Malfoy has been doing for years?"

"Yes, but… Harry, Malfoy's a seasoned politician. He has his hands in many pockets. You would need a lot of clout to even speak before the Wizengamot on my behalf."

"And that's what I had in mind," Harry said. "We need to _get_ some clout."

Sirius frowned. "I'm not following."

"Oh come on, Sirius, out of us two I'm not the one who had tutors from the age of four. I'm surprised you never thought of it yourself."

"I can't exactly go to the Ministry and try to chat up some important people, Harry. There's a Kiss-on-sight warrant for me."

"But that's the thing," Harry insisted. "Who says _you_ have to go to the Ministry?"

Sirius' eyes widened. "Ah… you are pretty damn famous…"

"You could say that," Harry replied, sipping his tea.

"But you've always hated your fame. And what you're suggesting would rather mean embracing, using it even."

"As long as it helps us take down Voldemort, I'll live."

Sirius patted the armrest. "What did you have in mind, exactly?"

"I was thinking of getting an emancipation first," Harry said slowly, waiting for Sirius' reaction.

"Well," he said, "you're the last Potter alive. It's your right to assume the title. I can't exactly stop you."

"Great," Harry grinned.

"But it'll take some time. Usually it gets done pretty quickly if there's no contest – the Wizengamot doesn't like empty seats or proxies and Dumbledore has been casting the Potter vote for years."

"What timeframe are we talking about?"

"Under normal circumstances? A week, maybe two. You have to make an appointment to meet with a special panel that includes the Chief Warlock and several legal experts. They then verify the validity of your claim, check if there's anyone that could possibly challenge you and then you just have to sign some paperwork."

"But of course normal circumstances are a luxury that isn't available right now, even if I could afford it," Harry growled.

"The Ministry is divided, but the facts are that Fudge is against you and the new Chief Warlock doesn't know you. The Minister will probably stall, try to drag the process out as much as possible."

"How long?"

"Well…" Sirius fumbled with a biscuit. "I remember one particular case, because it concerned the Blacks. My great-great-great grandfather and his brother fought for the title of Lord Black for several years."

Harry groaned. "We don't have years, Sirius! The time to act is now!"

"And then there's Draco Malfoy."

Harry's head snapped around to face Sirius so fast that he heard something in his neck crack. "What does bloody Malfoy have to do with any of this?"

"He could challenge your claim. His is very, very weak, but he has one. And in the current political climate that claim looks much more solid."

"How is this possible?" Harry demanded. "You've made me aware that Malfoy and I are very distantly related, but didn't you say that was the case with all old families?"

"It's not just that, Harry." Sirius shook his head. "Here comes in the infuriatingly vague aspect of my legal situation. You see, I was accused of betraying your parents and murdering Peter and those muggles, but without a trial, none of this was ever officially stamped. That's why I'm still your godfather and your legal guardian, however bizarre that is. But because I'm acting in loco parentis-"

"Then whoever inherits your title if you die without an heir, gets control of everything you technically control as my godfather," Harry finished for him, having realized what Sirius was trying to say. "And as long as can't I emancipate myself, we don't have enough clout to get you cleared. But because you're wanted by the authorities, you can't contradict anything Malfoy says."

"That about sums it up, yeah," Sirius said. "Are you getting a headache?"

Harry glared at the fireplace. "I think so."

"Yes, that's politics for you."

Harry took a deep, calming breath. "There must be something we can do."

Sirius stared into the flames as well, his face an unreadable mask.

"You have an idea, don't you," Harry said. It wasn't a question.

Sirius devoured another biscuit in one bite. "Something of an idea."

"Seeing as it's the only idea right now, you might as well tell me."

Sirius sank even deeper into his armchair. "You remember Barty Crouch?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "The Death Eater? He's dead. Not terribly useful, if you ask me."

"Not the son," Sirius said. "Crouch Senior."

Harry recalled an article from the last school semester. "He was found on Hogwarts grounds, catatonic. He had been kept under Imperius by his son for months… and he sent you to Azkaban without a trial."

"I've been keeping an ear to the ground," Sirius said. "Crouch has gotten better. Recovered and all that and he's back on the job."

Harry sat up straight. "Has he said anything about Voldemort? I mean, then on the school grounds, he wanted to talk to Dumbledore. He sounded like-"

"Dumbledore did talk to him," Sirius put in, "but Crouch wasn't interested in Voldemort anymore by then. Refused to say a word about his suspicions, whatever they were."

"Goddamn Fudge. He probably blackmailed everyone in the Ministry into silence or outright backing his little hate campaign."

"Probably," Sirius agreed. "But that's not the point."

"What is the point?"

"Crouch refused to talk to Dumbledore… But you, Harry…"

"You think he'd talk to me?"

"You've proved today that you can handle the Wizengamot just fine. You would still need to convince him that together, you will have a shot at proving to the public that Voldemort is back."

"That would be asking him to take a lot on faith. If you're saying he didn't want to team up with _Dumbledore…_"

"There's something else you could offer him in exchange for support," Sirius said quietly, still staring into the fire.

"Now I'm not following you."

"There's one thing that Barty Crouch values above all else. He cares about it so much that he sent his own son to Azkaban for it without a second thought."

"Let me guess. Power?" Harry snorted.

"Close." Sirius turned from the flames to look at Harry. "His reputation."

"I reckon it took a blow after it turned out his son was involved in a plot to get me killed."

"Yeah. And still Crouch is trying to pick up the pieces. That man is not the one to give up. It doesn't matter how many times you put him down – as long as he has strength left, he'll get back up."

Harry shared a long look with Sirius. "That does sound like someone we'd like on our side."

Sirius nodded in agreement. "I thought so. And nothing would boost his reputation like standing beside the Boy Who Lived when Voldemort reveals himself."

"So the problem lies in convincing him to find his balls and stand with us until Voldemort comes out to play."

"Pretty much."

They fell into silence for a long moment. Suddenly, Harry's eyes lit up with a glow of excitement.

"Uh-oh," Sirius said. "You have an idea. Damn, we're really brainstorming here, aren't we?"

"What if," Harry began, "we could lure Voldemort out?"

Sirius' grin was suddenly replaced with an apprehensive expression. "Ideas are welcome, but do we really want to taunt an insanely powerful Dark Lord?"

"If you have a better alternative, please share," Harry commented crisply.

Sirius thought for a moment. "Nope. No alternatives. And, what the hell – you only live once. What are you thinking?"

"You said Dumbledore had a contact in the Department of Mysteries?"

"I did and he does. Come on, Harry, don't make me guess."

Harry grinned at him. "Remember this day, Sirius. We're making history right now."

~~oOo~~

Having decided that there was no point in making further plans until Harry was emancipated and Sirius was free, they spend the afternoon polishing the details of Harry's plan to goad Voldemort into acting.

"We need to time everything just right," Sirius emphasized. "We can't make Crouch wait too long but Voldemort can't react to early – Crouch will need at least a few days to let the Ministry notice he took a stand."

They both excused themselves from dinner with everyone else and instead had their meal in the library. Afterward, Sirius launched into a long lecture about the Wizengamot and the general structure of the Ministry, reminding Harry of what he had written in his letters and adding a lot more detail as he went. When Harry stifled a yawn, Sirius blinked and looked at his watch.

"Oh dear," he mumbled. "We've been here for hours. I think that'll be enough scheming for one day."

"Thank Merlin," Harry said.

"Besides, it's almost time for your birthday party!" Sirius exclaimed, grinning.

"Party," Harry repeated. "Yes. Dumbledore mentioned it."

"Aren't you excited?"

"Don't get mad, but – no, not really. I've never had a birthday party. What are you supposed to do? Look happy while everyone sings you birthday songs?"

"In a pinch," Sirius agreed. "There's also the cake, presents of course and if there are women around, which there are, you might receive a birthday kiss," he finished, waggling his eyebrows. "It'll be fun, you'll see."

"I certainly hope so."

~~oOo~~

To Sirius' dismay, Harry couldn't find it in himself to 'loosen up' and spent the first part of the evening on the couch in the living room, trying to look captivated by his birthday presents.

"That just won't do," Sirius decided. "Kreacher!"

"Master called?" the elf asked a moment later.

"Get me a bottle of Ogden's."

Remus, who stood next to Sirius went wide-eyed. "You're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?"

Sirius just grinned at him.

"Oh, who am I kidding," Remus groaned. "_Of course_ you're thinking it! No, Sirius, _I forbid it_."

"Spoilsport," Sirius said. "Look at him, Moony!" he insisted, gesturing in Harry's direction. "He's not having fun. On his birthday! That's unacceptable, period."

"Maybe if you'd let him decide what kind of party he wanted for his birthday-"

"Pff," Sirius interrupted. "Let's not squabble over insignificant details. There is a birthday boy there brooding in a corner. I won't-"

"Master's drink," Kreacher screeched, holding up a bottle of amber liquid.

"Great," Sirius said, snatching the Firewhiskey. "Now get out."

He opened two bottles of Butterbeer and added a gracious amount of Firewhiskey to one before marching towards Harry.

"Drink," he commanded, holding the spiked bottle out for his godson. Harry took it without much enthusiasm.

"I appreciate your efforts, Sirius," he said, "but I don't think you can actually get drunk on Butterbeer."

"Let's test that theory, shall we?" Sirius clinked their bottles against each other. "To freedom!"

Harry stared at the bottle for a moment. "To revenge," he said quietly.

Sirius squinted at him. "I suppose that too."

Harry took a swig from the bottle and almost dropped it as he began choking.

"God, Sirius," he managed to say in between coughs. "That's _not_ Butterbeer."

"Not all of it, no," Sirius confessed. "Want another one?"

Harry gave it a moment of thought. "Sure," he said. "Why not. I won a Wizengamot trial today. I might as well get drunk in celebration."

~~oOo~~

Two more bottles later, Harry was light-headed enough to not feel embarrassed when Hermione pulled him onto the dance floor. Soon, they were whirling among the others. Sirius, who turned out to be a surprisingly skilled dancer, glided across the room with Tonks. Harry had to constantly watch himself to avoid stepping on Hermione's toes, which, in his drunken state, was no mean feat.

Ginny and Tonks also insisted on a dance with him and he didn't feel up to protesting, so he just went along with it. Ron challenged him to a game of pin-the-tail, which Harry spectacularly lost when he pinned a donkey's tail to Sirius' back, who yelped in pain before storming off to collect his dignity. Fred and George, seeing Harry stripped of his inhibitions, fed him several of their new products, which led to Harry parading through the ground floor as several different animals and sporting rainbow-colored skin.

The evening ended less than ideally, however, when Harry's stomach protested against any more alcohol, be it Firewhiskey or Butterbeer, and he commandeered the bathroom for almost an hour. When he emerged from it, the light-headedness was gone and he could think clearly again but he felt as if he'd been wrung out like a wet cloth.

"I'm going to kill Sirius," he mumbled.

"I hope it doesn't come to that," a familiar voice spoke from behind him. "Sirius makes for excellent company at parties and he's a very talented young man."

Harry spun around to come face to face with Dumbledore.

"Good evening Headmaster."

The elder wizard plucked a pocket watch from his robes. "It would seem it's rather closer to 'good morning' already," he said with a smile.

"Good morning then. Ugh..."

"I apologize for my late arrival, but, alas, these are troubled times and duty takes precedence before partying."

"I will gladly take duty before partying," Harry growled. "No more alcohol – ever."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in the dimly lit hallway. "I did bring a present, though." He produced a small, rectangular package and handed it to Harry.

"Thank you," Harry said, staring at it. "You didn't have to…"

"It was no problem at all, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said. "I had a spare. And I think it'll come in handy."

"What is it?"

"I wouldn't dare to spoil the surprise. But I suggest," he added, catching Harry's wrist gently, "that you wait to open it until you're feeling better. The box is charmed but the object it holds is quite heavy."

"Okay," Harry said. Suddenly, his eyes gleamed with a light of their own. "Do you think you could give something to Snape for me?"

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore reminded him.

"Yes, yes, Professor Snape," Harry slurred. "Could you pass on a letter?" he asked.

"Certainly. What letter?"

"Ah," Harry stumbled back and sat on a stair. "It's up in my bedroom. I'll get it… just give me a moment…"

"That's quite alright. _Accio letter!_" the Headmaster intoned and a few second later an envelope came flying into his hands. "Is that the one?"

"Yes. Could you… you know…"

"I'll pass it on to Severus. As for you, I would suggest a shower and a good night's sleep."

"Wait," Harry looked up. "I wanted to talk to you. I have- an idea."

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore nodded. "An idea concerning a certain prophecy. I've already talked to Sirius."

"You did?" Harry asked in surprise. "I-"

"You were in the bathroom at the time, I believe."

"What-" He stopped and rubbed his temples. "What do you think?"

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes dimmed a little. "While goading Voldemort into doing anything he doesn't want to is risky… very dangerous… I think your idea has merit. It might be just what we need to tip the scales in our favor. If the Minister could be convinced to see reason, it would be an immense advantage."

"The Minister," Harry growled, "is a festering pile of dragon sh-"

"I appreciate your honesty, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted him. "And while I'm sure many would agree with that statement, Cornelius Fudge is still the Minister and deserves a certain modicum of respect by virtue of his station."

Harry lowered his head between his knees. "Whatever," he mumbled.

"I'll be sure to drop by within a week. We shall discuss it in more detail.  
>Until then, Harry. And I hope you had a very happy birthday."<p>

Harry watched Dumbledore until he disappeared behind a corner.

"I'm going to kill Sirius."

~~oOo~~

"Wake up."

He stirred and muttered, "Five minutes."

"Oh, we have time, but I don't have the _patience_," the voice spoke again.

"I _said_," it said with malice, "wake up, Potter."

He felt a sting of pain and yelped in surprise. His eyes flew open and the instantly, he was on his feet.

_What on earth?_

"Ah, finally you're awake."

Harry spun around in place. Well, at least he thought he did. He couldn't really tell.

Everything above him, around him and below him was white. There was no ground, no walls and no ceiling. No landscape in the distance, and no horizon. Only him, suspended in the unending, blinding whiteness and the disembodied, familiar voice.

"Look behind you." He heard the voice as if its owner had just whispered the words into his ear. He slowly turned back.

"_You!_"

"Yes, me."

Before him stood Voldemort, clad in elaborate black robes, his crimson eyes alight with malicious glee.

"Me. And you. Alone. At last," he paused and spread his arms wide in a welcoming gesture, "we can talk."

"You're not going to attack me?" Harry asked, slipping into a dueling stance, even thought he had no wand.

Voldemort laughed. "_Of course_ I'm going to attack you, Harry. But..." He raised a finger. "...not right now."

"Where are we? What is this place?" Harry demanded.

Voldemort eyes bore into his. "I'm disappointed. It looks different, but it should _feel_ the same."

"Is this some kind of game?"

The Dark Lord laughed again, his cold, high pitch filling the hollow space and making the hair on Harry's neck stand straight. "Everything is a game! _Life_ is a game – the kind of game where you don't know the rules or the goal, so you must _make your own._"

They stared at each other in silence.

"Oh well." Voldemort sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected too much from you."

Suddenly the emptiness around them was no more and they found themselves in a long, narrow corridor with walls of cold stone. Harry recoiled in realization as he recognized it.

"The connection."

Voldemort clapped his hands and the corridor dissipated, replaced again by the white emptiness.

"Correct. We are in the mental link that connects our minds."

"Why does it look different?" Harry asked, while his instincts screamed at him to run.

"When you use it," Voldemort said, "it looks like the corridor. Something the subconscious part of your mind created to make it easier for you to navigate. But when I'm in control, it looks like this." He swept his hand in a wide arc. "Quite disorienting, isn't it? It makes it harder for you to try and find an escape route."

"What do you want?" Harry snapped.

"_That,_" the Dark Lord said, grinning in an eerily predatory manner, "is not a question to which I can give a simple answer. But among the things I want is your destruction."

"Destruction... That doesn't necessarily mean death. You don't want me dead anymore?"

To Harry's surprise, Voldemort said, "No."

Harry blinked several times. "I'm confused."

"When we last met, something went wrong."

"Obviously," Harry interrupted, "you were supposed to drown in that cauldron."

"There is a part of the prophecy I don't know," Voldemort continued, seemingly paying no attention to Harry. "I suspect Dumbledore told you – but to try and extract the knowledge from your mind would be a waste of energy. There are other ways. More time-consuming, but safer."

_Right. Not for long, Tom._

"So, until I am certain of what the prophecy says, I'll refrain from killing you. Dumbledore believes there are things worse than death."

"What is your plan then?" Harry demanded. "You'll tear my mind to shreds? Kidnap and torture me?"

Voldemort looked at him appalled. "Give me some credit, Potter. Simple torture has its place, but I am not a savage."

"Care to give a hint or two?"

"I intend to punish you. You have invaded my mind without permission."

Harry stayed silent.

"Oh, don't act coy now. Fiendfyre? Somehow, I don't see Dumbledore teaching you how to use it. And spells aren't all that you have extracted from my mind."

"Well," Harry said. "I suppose time for playing innocent is over."

"I don't know what else you've seen – I'm afraid what's done is done."

"And it only took you a month to notice," Harry sneered. "Congratulations."

Voldemort glared at him. "I assure you, Potter, you won't be feeling quite so smug in the morning."

"Oh yes? What are you going to do? Give me a headache?"

"No," Voldemort said flatly. "I have something else in mind."

The way he said it made Harry lose all his bravado.

"It never occurred to you that if you can get inside my mind, Potter, then perhaps I could do the same?"

Harry froze.

"I suggest you fight me with all your might," Voldemort said acidly. "I will not be gentle."

~~oOo~~

Harry awoke with a start, breathing heavily. He raised a hand to sweep the cold sweat from his forehead, but stopped abruptly, his hand still in front of his face. It was wet as well, but not from sweat. He'd seen blood enough times to recognize it even in the dark.

_I_ really _hope that's not mine._

He focused on his wand. _Accio._ A moment later he could feel it in his grasp.

"_Lumos._"

He illuminated the room he was in, shooing away the darkness. This wasn't the bedroom he shared with Ron. He wasn't in his bed.

He waved his wand at the fireplace and it lit up with bright fire, casting a warm glow all over the living room. Now, Harry could see there was more blood on the carpet.

His gaze slowly trailed the blood across the parquet and up the sofa, until it reached a message. At least it looked like a message.

WATCH, HARRY POTTER

Above the words, pinned to the wall by magic, was Ginny, still in her nightclothes, her wrists and throat sliced open, her face an expressionless mask. And burned into her forearm, black as coal, was the Dark Mark.

Harry stared at her for a long moment before the haze on his mind ebbed away and he realized he was just _standing _there, and she was either dying or dead already…

"SIRIUS!" he yelled. "GET DOWN HERE!"


	5. Dissent, Part 3

**AN: **Chapter one finale. I'm using the word 'chapter' loosely here. Chapters will be subsequent story arcs and each one will be big and divided into several parts.

It irks me when someone raises some points in a review that I feel deserve an explanation, but I can't respond because it's a guest review. If you have something you want to ask or discuss in depth, feel free to PM me. I'd rather not write humongous ANs, so I will not be replying to reviews here.

**CHAPTER ONE: Dissent**

**Part 3**

The last hour had been a blur. Harry remembered screams of anguish – and crying. A lot of crying. Everything else seemed unfocused, deemed not important enough by his shocked psyche to remember clearly. But he did remember Sirius storming into the room and staring in horror at Ginny, much like Harry had moments before.

He remembered Hermione, her head whipping from him to Ginny and back, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. He remembered Ron stumbling back and falling at the sight of his sister and Mrs. Weasley making strangled noises because she couldn't get an honest cry out of her throat. And finally he remembered Dumbledore Flooing in, casting one glance at Ginny's unmoving form and raising his wand. Then there was blackness.

He looked around him, dazed. He grasped for his wand, but it wasn't there. He summoned it, but it wouldn't come.

"Where am I?" he asked, as the world spun around him uncontrollably. He tried standing up, but collapsed to the floor in an undignified heap. "Where _am_ I?"

"You are in my house," Dumbledore's gentle voice answered him. "In the attic, specifically."

He blinked away the dizziness and tried to make sense of the words. Dumbledore's house? Dumbledore had a _house?_

"I thought you lived at Hogwarts."

"Only during the school year," the Headmaster explained. "For all its wonders, when you have spent as many years as I in the castle, it can get quite boring at times."

"But _why_ am I here?" Harry demanded.

"You attacked Miss Weasley," the elder wizard said softly. "You had to be removed from the Headquarters."

The remnants of confusion were swept away by the Headmaster's words.

"_I didn't_ attack Ginny," Harry protested furiously. "That was-"

"Voldemort," Dumbledore finished for him. "I'm well aware of that fact. And, as shocked as they are, so is everyone else. I thought it prudent to make that quite clear."

"Then what am I doing here?" Harry asked bluntly. "I have to go back, I have to talk to Sirius. The Ministry-"

"Let me worry about the Ministry for the moment," Dumbledore insisted, gently but firmly. "You cannot go back to Grimmauld Place right now. You were possessed by Voldemort."

He knew it, of course, on some semi-conscious level, but hearing it said by someone else brought the full gravity of the fact down upon him.

"How?" he whispered.

"Possession is not quite as uncommon as you might think," Dumbledore began. "There are ghosts, malevolent spirits, who utilize it fairly often. Of course, there are no such hostile ghosts at Hogwarts and never will be, as long as I'm the Headmaster."

"I don't care about _ghosts,_" Harry sputtered in anger. "How did Voldemort control my body? I- he didn't control my mind. I was still _myself,_ if that makes any sense…" He stopped for a moment, trying to find the right words.

"Go on," Dumbledore encouraged.

"I was conscious through the possession," Harry said. "I remember it now, I saw everything… Voldemort only controlled my body, like I was his _puppet,_" he spat out with disdain.

"Physical possession," Dumbledore spoke. "Body, but not the mind. That very rarely happens and is nigh impossible to perform for a living being."

"If it's so difficult, how did Voldemort manage it?" Harry asked angrily. "Well, alright, he's _Voldemort_ but-"

"Thanks to your unique mental connection, no doubt," the Headmaster said. "And as long as that connection is open to him, he could probably do it again, although not for some time. Such magic requires great energy."

"So," Harry said slowly, "the connection has to be closed."

_Which surely means I won't be able to access his mind anymore,_ he thought, _but I'd rather he can't do it to me either._

"Doubtlessly."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Harry said impatiently. "Tell me how to do it so we can get back to Grimmauld Place."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Were it that easy, Harry. Alas, I do not know how."

Harry _looked_ at him. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"I have seen much in my life," the Headmaster said sadly, "but the connection which you and Voldemort share is something entirely unique. I have never before encountered anything like it."

"You don't know," Harry repeated. "But that doesn't mean there isn't someone who does."

Dumbledore's eyes darkened visibly. "The only person who may possess such knowledge is beyond your reach."

"How can you be sure?" Harry snapped. "Tell me who it is! _Tell me!_"

Dumbledore's gaze became harder and so did his voice. "_Harry,_" he said, "you forget your place."

"I know exactly where my place is," Harry argued. "And it's not here."

"Where is it then?"

"Wherever I can do Voldemort most harm."

"You speak of revenge," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes all but piercing Harry through.

"Of course I speak about revenge!" Harry exclaimed in frustration. "After all Voldemort has done to me, you didn't think I'd want revenge?"

"I had hoped you would not stoop to his level," Dumbledore said quietly. "I would not see you become what you fight against."

"I will never be like Voldemort," Harry said indignantly.

"It is our choices that make us who we are. If you make the same choices Voldemort did, you will be no better than him."

"I respectfully disagree, Headmaster," Harry snapped. "I think I'm loads better than Voldemort. I don't hate all purebloods as Voldemort does muggles. _I just want him dead._"

Dumbledore watched him for a long moment and then left, without another word.

Harry, now alone, decided to explore his new surroundings. He had the awful impression that he was, at least for now, a prisoner in Dumbledore's attic. He tried summoning his wand again, but, predictably, nothing happened. It had been taken away from and so was his ability to perform magic for the most part.

The attic looked like a spacious but cozy apartment rather than a typical attic, full of cobwebs and unused or broken objects. The ceiling was the underside of a pitched roof and there was a bay window at each end. The furnishings were simple – a single bed, a small closet and a tiny bathroom in the corner, equipped with everything a person might need. Obviously Dumbledore wanted him to be moderately comfortable.

That still didn't make the fact that he was imprisoned any less infuriating.

Eventually his rage settled into a controlled anger, hot against his skin, but contained. Three times throughout the day a house elf popped in, left a meal tray and then collected it when Harry was finished. He saw no reason to starve himself in protest. Dumbledore would be back, sooner or later.

It was a brilliant sunset outside when the Headmaster came back, but this time he wasn't alone.

"Snape," Harry spat at the Potions Master.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, with a hint of displeasure.

"Yes, I know - _Professor_ Snape," Harry snapped irritably. "What is he doing here?"

"Professor Snape has agreed to assist us."

The man scowled at him. "Believe me, Potter, I'd much rather do _anything_ else than spend any amount of time in your company."

"The connection lies within your mind," Dumbledore explained. "I dare not venture inside while Voldemort has access to it. Professor Snape is one of the most accomplished practitioners of mind arts I know."

Snape glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded curtly.

"Don't resist, Potter," Snape said suddenly, raising his wand. "It'll be much easier this way. _Legilimens!_"

The room vanished and suddenly Harry was standing in a misty landscape as images of past events swirled around him.

Then he felt a lance of white-hot pain spear through him and the memories dissolved into a whirlwind of colors until eventually random ones flew out of the maelstrom and at him.

He was casting the Fiendfyre and failing to control it. He was threatening he Dursleys. He was flying against the Horntail.

He gasped when the images exploded in a puff of smoke and another set appeared.

He was talking to Quirrell in the chamber deep under Hogwarts. He was kneeling over Ginny's unmoving body while Tom Riddle looked on, laughing coldly… He felt his body constricted by ropes, binding him to a stone statue as Voldemort approached him, reaching out with his pale, spider-like hand-

Everything ended in a flash and he was back in the attic.

"It will be difficult," Snape announced. "His mind is entirely disorganized. I'm amazed that for someone with such experiences as his, he hasn't tried to turn some of this chaos into at least controlled chaos."

"What," Harry growled, "did you _do?_"

"Legilimency, Potter," Snape said succinctly. "Look it up."

"Legilimency allows you to enter and navigate another person's mind," Dumbledore explained. "Occlumency, its opposite, allows one to protect one's mind from outside influences."

"Then you want me to learn this… Occlumency?" Harry asked.

"Yes," the Headmaster said. "Until we can somehow destroy your connection with Voldemort, or at least close it, you shall remain here and learn Occlumency from Severus."

Snape looked none too happy at this, but made no complaint. Harry, on the other hand, felt compelled to voice his concerns.

"Will the learning entail more of _him,_" he said, pointing at Snape, "rifling through my memories?"

"It is the quickest method."

"I refuse to let that creep look around in my head. It's bad enough that Voldemort did it."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice in this matter, Harry," Dumbledore said and that was the end of it. "Try to get some sleep. You need rest."

Soon afterward, a house elf popped in with his trunk and other possessions. He spent the rest of the evening pacing restlessly and kept telling himself that Dumbledore probably wouldn't take well to it if he wrecked the attic.

When his watch indicated one o'clock, he was still too agitated to sleep. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to get some rest nonetheless.

It was, as he'd expected, entirely useless. He let his mind wander, but his thoughts always inevitably came back to Ginny, blood dripping from her wrists and neck - and Voldemort.

Why would Voldemort target _her,_ of all people? Ron and Hermione were, admittedly, much closer to him, even though he put some distance between them.

It was strange in itself. He understood why Hermione let him vent - so she could talk to him when he calmed down. Ron, though... despite the disappointing end to his birthday party, he had fun with Ron. Now that he thought about it, it was possible that Sirius had spiked Ron's Butterbeer too. Or was it Hermione's influence? Harry believed he had been in the right during his and Ron's falling out last year. Ron was too quick to judge sometimes and Hermione agreed. She was too much of a lecturer to just let it rest.

Harry groaned in frustration. In hindsight, he might have been too harsh on them.

He doubted Voldemort had intimate knowledge of his social life and suspected the Dark Lord knew what everyone else did – his best friends were Ron and Hermione. Ron had been in the same room with him last night. Why not attack him? Why risk exposure and specifically seek out someone else? And even then, Hermione shared the bedroom with Ginny.

It made no sense. And yet, there was a possible reason why Voldemort might have seen Ginny as a more desirable target…

Surely he'd found out about the diary debacle from Lucius. Perhaps he even knew what had transpired in the Chamber of Secrets, having found out somehow. Maybe there was some of the diary's magic left in Ginny and Voldemort felt drawn to it. Or maybe Voldemort thought she was Harry's secret girlfriend or something.

Harry snorted at the ridiculous thought. Then again, he could think of no other reasons for Ginny being targeted instead of Ron or Hermione. Or Sirius, for that matter.

He checked his watch again – it was past three in the morning. He let out a long sigh. What was he supposed to _do?_

_You know what,_ his own inner voice replied. _The question is, do you have enough willpower to do it?_

He frowned, staring at the ceiling. He'd out-willed Voldemort in the graveyard, hadn't he? He'd forced the connection between their wands to turn on Voldemort, even though the Dark Lord fought him all the way. Hell, he'd managed to get into his mind and it took Voldemort a month to even notice!

Oh, he had the willpower alright.

_Yes,_ he assured himself. _I know what I have to do._

He closed his eyes.

~~oOo~~

Ginny's eyes fluttered open. She winced as the memories came back in a flood. She had been scared, but she wasn't anymore.

The night's events had been frightening and unexpected… at first. She knew, subconsciously, that Harry would never hurt her. He wasn't like that. They weren't very close friends, but he'd never been hostile towards her. He was hardly ever hostile towards anyone, unless pushed.

It had hurt when the slid his finger across her wrists and her throat, muttering spells under his breath, to halt the bleeding enough so that she wouldn't die. It had been Voldemort that attacked her, but he _didn't_ want her dead, for some unthinkable reason.

She couldn't fathom why. Killing her would strike at the Order's morale. And Harry's of course. Wasn't that just the kind of thing Voldemort would want?

Perhaps he let her live because he wanted Harry to look at her and be flooded with guilt each time he did. That would be something Voldemort – Tom – would do. Harry always blamed himself for everything.

She felt weak and her throat was dry. She looked around the room - everyone was there. Her parents, her brothers, Hermione...

And Sirius. He was there too, tall and dark, leaning against the door frame and playing idly with a silver chain around his neck. He was watching her with concern, but his face was otherwise calm and smooth.

He was the first to notice she had woken up, perhaps because he was looking at her so intently.

"Ginny," he spoke, his voice clear and firm. "How are you feeling?"

Everyone else collectively jumped.

"Things are a bit... fuzzy," she replied hoarsely. "And I would _kill_ for a glass of water right now."

Ron immediately stood from his seat, prepared to rush downstairs to the kitchen, but Sirius put and arm in front of him.

"I've got it," he said, and flicked his wand, conjuring a glass which he then filled water and levitated to Ginny.

"Much better," she declared, laying back down. "How long have I been out?"

"A few hours, dear," her mother said, stroking her hair. In all honesty, Ginny felt a bit silly and more than a little freaked out, with everyone watching her every move, but said nothing.

"Where's Harry? Is he okay?"

She could _feel_ the atmosphere thickening in the room.

"Professor Dumbledore took him to his house. He... seemed alright," Hermione said in careful tones.

"Oh, of course he was," Ron snapped. "He wasn't the one who got slashed up and stuck to a wall in the middle of the night!"

"Ron," Arthur reprimanded him. "You _know_ that wasn't Harry's doing. He's as much a victim in this as Ginny."

"Yeah, well." Ron wouldn't let up. "Good riddance, I say. If he has You-Know-Who lurking in his head-"

"Ron," Ginny interrupted him. "Shut up."

A shadow of appreciation crossed Sirius' face.

"Not to be rude, but can you please leave?" she asked. "It's a bit crowded in here… and I would like to change out of these clothes."

There was a flood of 'of courses' and 'sorrys' as everyone hustled out of the room, eager to please her. She threw off the bed sheet and stood up, regarding her bloodied pajamas critically.

"Thank you," she heard someone say and looked up to find Sirius still leaning against the door, not having moved from his position.

"What for?"

"Standing up for Harry," Sirius explained, pushing off the wall. "As you can imagine, few people are on his side right now. Rationally, they know it wasn't his fault, but… well, it's only natural for them to want to blame someone and since Voldemort is kind of unavailable, Harry makes a perfect scapegoat."

"It's okay. Ron's a prat," she said, eliciting a chuckle from Sirius. "I know what it's like to be possessed by Voldemort."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "You used his name."

"A pseudonym," she clarified. "It's not even a name. His real name is Tom. And I think," she added, "that I've earned the right to call him whatever I want."

"I'm sure Harry would agree," Sirius said with a nod.

"He would," Ginny said knowingly. "What's that?" she asked, pointing.

Sirius lifted the silver chain. "This?" He drew out the rest of it from behind his shirt. A silver signet ring with a round black stone hung from it.

"It's the Black Ring," he explained. "It belongs to the Head of the Family, which, at the moment, happens to be me. I keep it on the chain because it's a bit too tacky for my tastes. I'm not a ring person."

"What kind of person are you, then?" Ginny asked, amused.

Sirius shrugged. "I've always had a soft spot for cats, but I dare not keep one right now. Buckbeak lives on the top floor and he _eats_ cats, among other things. Anyway." He turned to leave. "Thank you. If you need anything-"

"I'll ask. Thanks." She smiled. "He'll be okay."

She didn't say Harry's name, but it was obvious to both of them who she meant.

"Of course he will," Sirius said with conviction. "He's Harry."

~~oOo~~

He sprinted through the hallway, focused on nothing but the door at the end. He knew he didn't have much time. Voldemort would be watching now, alert for any sign of his presence. Until yesterday, Harry had no idea there even was something as mind magic. He wasn't trained at it and he was willing to bet large sums of money that Voldemort had mastered it.

Therefore, there was no need to be subtle. His advantage now lay in surprise.

He crashed into the door, the impact almost tearing it from its hinges. Harry looked around wildly, looking for the familiar path leading to Voldemort's deeper memories. He cursed himself. If only he'd kept to the surface, perhaps Voldemort wouldn't have noticed what he was doing.

_Too late for regrets now._

He flung himself onto it recklessly, leaping over a line of fire that suddenly erupted beneath him, feeling the flames lick his shoes. He ran and ran, as fast as he could, cutting still deeper into the Dark Lord's mind.

He'd never gone so far in before. Usually he would tip-toe on the fringes, nibbling at whatever memories he could reach. Now, pursued by Voldemort's cold fury, Harry tore into the center, somehow bypassing all the invisible barriers as if they weren't there, attributing it to their unique mental connection.

He halted when he saw an enormous, pulsating sphere in front of him. It was surrounded by fingers of black smoke and he could hear distant whispers coming from it. He smiled coolly, confident he had found what he was looking for. He drew back his arm and threw it forward, with all the force he could muster.

The sphere shattered into a million pieces, as if it were made of glass.

~~oOo~~

Ginny recovered quickly and was now wolfing down a second helping of dinner. Hermione watched with amazement as the petite girl did a fine imitation of Ron, who looked on gloomily, casting hostile glances around, determined to watch out for his little sister.

Once she was done, Ginny marched to the living room, undisturbed by the fact that hours earlier, she had hung pinned to a wall there. She was pale and her movements were slow and calculated – she must still be feeling the toll of losing so much blood – but otherwise, she seemed fine. The cuts on her wrists and neck had been healed instantly by Madam Pomfrey whom Professor Dumbledore had brought to the Headquarters to examine her.

Hermione, from her seat place across the room, could see the faint outline of a scar that marked the spot where You-Know-Who had left Ginny a Dark Mark. It hadn't been a _real_ Dark Mark, of course – Professor Dumbledore had said as much - but the scar would take some time to heal and it might never disappear completely, was Madam Pomfrey's opinion.

Now, Ginny was sitting next to Sirius on the same sofa that had been splattered with her own blood that very morning, chatting vigorously. They talked about cats and Buckbeak and laughed at something that to do with the old pureblood families, a subject that Hermione wasn't very knowledgeable about. It begged an explanation why on earth would Ginny be talking to Sirius, with whom she hadn't exchanged more than a few words since she'd met him several weeks ago. Sirius himself spent most of the time lurking about the house and generally staying out of everyone else's way. When Harry arrived, he livened up visibly and then spent the rest of the day locked up with his godson in the library.

Ron worked his way into the conversation and talked Sirius into a game of chess. Ginny watched them, clearly amused as Sirius, who turned out to be quite a skilled player, forced Ron to employ all his tricks and still managed to win half the time, seemingly without terrible effort on his part. The three laughed and generally enjoyed themselves, making Hermione feel out of place – until Ron unwisely touched upon the subject of Harry.

The easy smile vanished from Sirius' face. "You know it wasn't his fault, Ron," he said coldly.

"I'm just saying," Ron answered, "that maybe it's a good thing Dumbledore took him from here. At least until he learns to keep You-Know-Who out of his head." He moved a piece. "Your move, Sirius."

Sirius just stared at him. "I've been led to understand that you were Harry's best friend."

"I am," Ron said. "I just get a little freaked out when my friends are possessed by-"

"I was possessed by Voldemort too," Ginny cut in. "Or have you forgotten?"

"That was different," Ron said sternly. "Stay out of this, Gin-"

"Why?" Sirius demanded. "She was attacked, not you,"and I don't see _her_ blaming Harry."

"Well," Ron continued, "she's little. I don't think she really understands. She could still be in shock, you know."

"_I am not little!_" Ginny shrieked. "And you," she snapped, poking Ron in the chest, "are hardly the one to talk, what with your thick skull. I'm amazed _anything_ gets through."

With that, she left.

Sirius moved one of his rooks. "Checkmate, by the way," he said and also left, presumably to lock himself in the library again. For a short moment Hermione considered asking him again to let her in, but decided against it. He would probably just refuse, like last time.

"Bloody brilliant," Ron muttered, hurling himself into an armchair next to Hermione's. "Everyone's gone nuts. Harry stalks around at night stabbing people and- what? What did I say?" he demanded, seeing Hermione slam her book shut and glare at him.

"You really are thick, _Ronald,_" she said, rather dryly.

Ron yelled after her as she left the room, but she didn't even acknowledge him.

_Oh, Harry,_ she thought. _Why do those things always happen to you?_

~~oOo~~

The sphere shattered and he was showered with glass shards. They covered his skin in a thousand little cuts, a sting of pain coming from each one, magnified by their sheer number.

He gasped and fell to his knees as the dark glass tore at his clothes and the flesh underneath it, his arms, his face. He closed his eyes and put the hands up to his face, but the glass wouldn't stop cutting him…

He dared open his eyes just a little – the shards swirled around him in a mad dance, as if carried by wind. Blood was beginning to pool at his feet. He could only continue forward now.

~~oOo~~

Dumbledore sat behind the desk in his Hogwarts office, somewhat consoled by the fact that Harry was safe, for the moment. And, perhaps more importantly, others were safe from him. The wards around his house were sturdy enough, even if Harry decided, led by his anger, to attempt to redecorate…

"The boy is… undisciplined," said Snape, sitting across from him.

"I am aware that Harry lacks the mental rigor that any Occlumens needs," Dumbledore said from behind the series of slender arcs his fingers formed. "That is why I need you to teach him."

"I hardly think I'd be the best choice," Snape argued. "The boy trusts you-"

"I fear that may no longer be the case," the Headmaster interrupted, speaking softly.

"Well," Snape wouldn't be deterred. "He certainly trusts you more than _me._"

"Severus," Dumbledore pleaded. "My schedule is quite full at the moment, but that is the least of my worries. If it is needed, I will make time for the boy. I am _asking you_ to teach him."

"On one condition-" Snape began, but was interrupted by a frantic house elf that had just apparated in. It was Dobby.

"Master Professor Dumbledore sir!" the elf shrieked in high-pitched tones. "Sprinkle just comes in and says something's bad happening to Master Harry!"

Dumbledore stood up, alarmed. "What? What is happening to Harry?"

"Master Harry's being hurt! Bleeding all over-"

Dumbledore's cloak twirled around him and he was gone.

~~oOo~~

Harry took another step forward, feeling himself grow weaker with each second. Rapid blood loss was like that.

Eventually he found himself in the center of the glass tornado, where the shards didn't fly at all. It was quiet here, and the black smoke he'd seen surrounding the sphere before was just above the ground, like mist on on a chilly spring morning.

Then the smoke shut upward and he saw images and heard voices. They were just small fragments of many different wholes, but it was still something. He was looking at Voldemort's deepest held secrets. Several images were repeated quickly, multiple times.

A man, dressed in immaculate, rich robes, clearly in his prime. That same man, dressed for battle, surrounded by foes and yet it was _them_ who looked frightened. Finally, that man in dirty rags, hugging his knees as he sat in a tiny cell. He looked fragile – like an old man that he was.

_NURMENGARD. GRINDELWALD._

Harry flinched violently as the powerful voice suddenly echoed in his head.

Then he saw objects. Beautiful, old artifacts, each one with a violent history and capable of gifting the owner with powerful abilities.

A delicate, silver crown, looking out of place among other, ordinarily looking things. An ugly, golden ring, embedded with a dark green stone. A necklace. The images changed faster and faster. A small, intricately decorated cup. Finally, a book. Small, thin, bound in green leather.

He knew that book.

Tom Riddle's diary.

_SOUL,_ the voice boomed again. _HORCRUX. _

Then everything ended and he heard another, very much familiar voice.

"_POTTER!_"

Harry, broken out of his stupor, flung himself forward again, once more through the glass shards still flying in circles.

In front of him was an empty doorway. Hoping for it to be what he was looking for, he hurried towards it.

~~oOo~~

Dumbledore appeared in front of the attic door, unwilling to risk apparating straight in. All he knew was that Harry was bleeding, Merlin knows why, and what else was happening.

He opened the door carefully, wand at the ready. Seeing no immediate danger, he walked in and looked left, then right.

Harry lay on the bed, bleeding profusely from numerous tiny, deep cuts that marred his entire body. He felt the wards twitch and he knew that Severus had arrived – he would have had to Floo outside the Hogwarts' wards first.

"I need your help, Severus!" he called, then summoned Sprinkle, who appeared right away, already carrying a handful of bottles and vials he'd taken from Dumbledore's personal storage.

"Master- Sprinkle nots knowing what to bring, so he took some of everything!" the elf squeaked.

"You've done well," Dumbledore said, pointing his wand and a bottle leapt into his hand, already uncorked. "Please fetch warm water and fresh towels."

Severus came in at that moment. One look at the boy, lying dead still, was all he needed. He rolled up his sleeves and grasped his wand.

"I don't see essence of dittany here," Snape said. "Find some – fast. I'll need at least two jars. If you don't have it here, there's plenty in my storage in the castle," he instructed, kneeling next to the bed and taking the bottle of Blood Replenishing Potion from the Headmaster. "If you want the boy to live, I suggest you hurry. And find Pomfrey – I'm no mediwizard."

Dumbledore only nodded and vanished again, leaving Snape alone with an unconscious, rapidly bleeding boy.

_Potter, you stupid, idiot child…_

~~oOo~~

Harry was no longer feeling weak. No, he felt _far_ better than normal. He was also no longer in Voldemort's mind. Well, not precisely.

He examined his hands with interest – though they weren't _his,_ to be exact. They were large, pale and strong. He was confident they could crush a human skull if he so desired.

He reached into his robes and drew out a wand – as white as his own pale skin, thirteen inches of yew. He admired it for a moment, at all times aware of Voldemort, furiously trying to regain control of his body, causing a faint headache to settle in at the back of his eyeballs.

He cast a long glance around the room. It was unfamiliar to him. Not surprising. He hadn't expected Voldemort to make his lair somewhere his enemies could find him.

Fire crackled in the hearth and a large snake coiled around his feet. It tasted the air with its forked tong, lifting its heart-shaped head.

"_Master,_" it hissed. "_Master._"

He ignored it and looked up. His gaze fell upon two kneeling figures, both covered by long, hooded cloaks. One of them, he knew.

"Stand," he spoke, slowly, deliberately. Two Death Eaters rose to their feet. It felt like a tidal wave of malice and rage washed over him all of a sudden, an ice-cold intent to _kill._ He raised his wand at the man he didn't recognize and cast the curse with barely a thought. Green light illuminated the room for a moment as the spell slammed into the Death Eater.

He fell to the floor, dead. Harry turned his gaze on the other, grinning with fiendish glee.

"Wormtail," he hissed in a low voice.

"Y-yes, my lord?" the short, balding man asked. He reeked of fear and his eyes showed it as well.

"I have a task for you," he said. "You will go to a location called Grimmauld Place in London and you shall remain there until ordered otherwise. I have reason to believe that one of Dumbledore's agents will soon be passing through that area. I want you to apprehend him."

Pettigrew quivered under his gaze. "B-but what if I am detected, master?"

Harry slashed the wand diagonally and muttered under his breath, pretending to cast magic.

"There," he drawled. "You will be unseen to Dumbledore's man. Now, go. I have no patience left for you tonight."

Pettigrew bowed deeply and backed out of the room, careful not to disturb the corpse on the floor. Once he was out in the hall, Harry heard him disapparate with a loud crack.

"_ENOUGH!_" Voldemort thundered.

Harry's vision blurred and he was sent tumbling out of Voldemort's body and through his mind, once again passing the dark sphere, now restored. He was hurled with such force that he _crashed through_ both doors at opposite ends of the gray corridor. Finally, he landed sprawled on the ground at his end and watched the broken door slam shut and sink into the wall.

As he'd hoped, Voldemort himself closed the connection, perhaps even tore it apart. He wouldn't risk leaving it open if Harry could control _his_ body. It had been a wild gambit, but it worked.

Harry smiled weakly and closed his eyes, leaving his mind and returning to reality.

~~oOo~~

He coughed, once, twice and stirred on the bed.

"Careful, Potter." Snape pushed him back into a lying position. "You've lost a lot of blood."

"Harry," Dumbledore addressed him. "What happened? What did you do? Was it Voldemort again?"

"I forced him to close the connection," Harry explained.

"How-" Snape started, but was cut off.

"No time," Harry said. "Professor, listen… _Pettigrew-_"

He broke into a coughing fit. Snape held a glass of water to his mouth. Harry swallowed loudly.

"What of Peter, Harry? Do you know where he is?" Dumbledore questioned.

"No. But I know where he _will_ be, shortly. He was sent to watch Grimmauld Place-"

"Impossible," Snape interrupted. "The Dark Lord doesn't know about the Headquarters. The Fidelius Charm-"

"_Professor,_" Harry insisted. "I know what I'm talking about. He will be there, we can catch him- clear Sirius-"

"Severus, go," Dumbledore ordered. "You've done enough. Poppy and I will watch over him."

Snape left the room, followed by the billows of his cloak.

"Harry, I need you to tell me what you saw. Did you see through Voldemort's eyes?"

"… You could say that."

~~oOo~~

Something that sounded like a small explosion rocked Grimmauld Place Twelve, instantly waking all inhabitants. Hermione sat up straight in her bed and looked over at Ginny. Her flaming red hair stood out in the darkness.

"What do you think _that_ was?" she asked.

"I'm not sure I want to know," Hermione replied and scrambled out of the bed, reaching for her wand. She gathered her sleeping gown and threw it on hastily.

"BLACK!" someone yelled from downstairs. "GET DOWN NOW!"

"Was that-" Ginny began, surprised.

"Professor Snape." Hermione gasped quietly. "No, surely not…"

They were interrupted by a cracking sound of apparition.

"Snivellus, if this is your idea of a joke, I _swear-_" they heard Sirius' muffled voice coming from below.

"Shut up, mutt, and gather your wits. Pettigrew will be here momentarily, if he isn't already."

There was a short pause.

"Let's go."

~~oOo~~

"Harry, listen to me," Dumbledore said in exasperation. "I do not wish to force you to tell me what transpired between the moment I left and when you woke up-"

"Then don't," Harry said, stubbornly looking away.

"-but I will," Dumbledore finished. "If there is no other way for me to find out."

Harry refused to speak, gripping at the windowsill, his entire body tense. He wouldn't give in, wouldn't let Dumbledore_judge_ him-

A hand fell gently on his shoulder. "Harry." The Headmaster's voice was rigid and commanding. "Please, do not force me. I _must_ know."

He took Dumbledore's hand by the wrist and pried it off his shoulder. The next moment he felt his body freeze and being levitated back to the bed, where Dumbledore leaned over him. Harry closed his eyes shut, but Dumbledore forced them open magically.

He looked up, down, left and right, anywhere but straight ahead into Dumbledore's blue eyes, but it was for nothing.

"I'm very sorry, Harry, but you leave me no choice. I only want what's best for you," he said, and then his face hardened. "_Legilimens._"

~~oOo~~

Sirius crept among the long shadows cast by the street lamps. One entire side of Grimmauld Place was a occupied by a small park, which was the most obvious hiding place in the area. In other words – just where Peter would think to hide.

He knew that Snape had entered the park from the other side, disillusioned as well. They would search the park and catch Peter in pincers, if at all possible.

Sirius moved forward slowly, taking carefully measured steps. It wouldn't do to let the traitor escape them. Not now, when a truly golden opportunity had presented itself. It could be their only chance – if there was one thing Peter was good at, it was hiding. Sneaky little bastard.

He circled around a tree, away from a puddle of light from a street lamp – even though he was disillusioned, someone with keen eyes could spot him and the distortion would be clearly visible in that kind of light, against a dark background. Peter was a worthless coward, but he wasn't a complete idiot – he used to be a very good lookout during their school years.

When a twig snapped under his shoe, Sirius froze in place and stopped breathing.

_Goddamn it._

He investigated his immediate surroundings. No movement, no sounds. Nothing. Good.

Praying that Peter hadn't heard him, he continued onward.

~~oOo~~

Memories played in front of his eyes like footage from a muggle video camera.

He was talking to Moody at King's Cross station. He was sitting at a desk in his room at Privet Drive, smiling in satisfaction as moonlight poured in-

He was pacing angrily in Dumbledore's attic, pondering what course of action he should take... He was lying on the bed in that same attic, calming his thoughts, eyes closed.

- he was sprinting down the gray corridor –

"_Get out of my head!_" he yelled, focusing his attention on Dumbledore to _throw_ him out.

Magic clashed against magic and they were both brutally forced out his mind, Harry sprawled across the bed, his head pounding, Dumbledore up against the opposite wall.

Dumbledore quickly gathered himself and walked up to the bed again, without realizing that the boy had inadvertently broken through the paralysis-

-but in the next moment Harry was on top of him, wrestling the wand from his fingers.

Harry clenched his left hand around Dumbledore's throat and pressed the wand deep into his cheek.

"I'm sorry," Dumbledore was saying, his eyes alight with a mad gleam that Harry had never seen in them before. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I had to know- I had to know. What was that gray corridor? Was it your connection to Tom? How-"

"_Why,_" Harry growled, clenching his fingers tighter and silencing the elder man, "_did you do this?_"

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment before speaking, not without difficulty. "I brought Tom Riddle into our world, Harry!" he rasped. "And I watched him, for years, knowing he was dabbling in Dark magic – and I did nothing! Nothing, because the Headmaster at the time forbade me from intervening."

"What does this have to do with me?" Harry snarled.

"And then, when I met him again, when I _could_ have done something, I decided to let him go, because I wanted to believe there was some good left in him still – and he did such things, Harry, like no one had done before-"

"If you don't start making sense in the next _five seconds-_"

"-I, and I alone, am responsible for what Tom Riddle has become!" Dumbledore said. "Through inaction, I've created a monster. Because truly evil deeds, Harry, are committed when _good_ people see something _wrong_ and do nothing. And you – you are so much like Tom. I cannot let this happen again, I will not-"

"I AM NOT!" Harry yelled, his voice fueled by the pent up aggression of the last days. "I am _nothing_ like Voldemort!"

The mad gleam was back. "Oh, but you are, Harry – so much like him. If Tom could see what I see, he would recruit you and make you his most trusted lieutenant-"

"Shut up," Harry snapped, seething. "You're insane."

At once, Dumbledore's face regained its wise, grandfatherly look, contradicting him. "I assure you, Harry," he said, his voice also its calm, usual tone, "that I am in full possession of all my mental faculties. I am, however, frustrated. And I am," he continued as he sharpened his will into a single lance of thought, "truly sorry."

"What-"

"_Legilimens!_"

~~oOo~~

Sirius had been a split second too late.

"Azkaban has made you careless, Sirius," Wormtail purred, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Did you think I have not heard you, stepping on that twig? I have good ears, Sirius-"

He struggled in the ropes, but it only made them constrict around him further.

"And the Dark Lord was right. He said there would be one of Dumbledore's men here tonight – and here you are! I really shouldn't doubt him, even if he is a tad insane. Really, it's ungrateful of me, to doubt the master."

"Well, you're a few sandwiches short of a picnic yourself, Peter, so I imagine you must get along famously," Sirius snapped. Where in _hell_ was Snape?

Wormtail glared at him. "Watch your tongue, Sirius, or I might decide you don't need it anymore. The Dark Lord doesn't need you to speak to learn everything he wants to know."

"You are a sick, pathetic little man, Peter," Sirius growled, "and I pity you."

"You shouldn't," Wormtail assured him. "The Dark Lord cares about his own – and I am one of his most loyal servants. I helped him rise again. And I have been rewarded for my loyalty." He raised his right hand and pulled off the glove.

Underneath, there was no flesh – only an artificial construct of silvery metal, just like Harry had described it.

"Do you like it, Sirius?" Peter asked. "If you prove useful, perhaps the Dark Lord will reward you too…"

~~oOo~~

The memories flowed like a river. Try as he might, Harry couldn't stop them.

Dumbledore was there, standing right next to him, watching the images rearrange themselves into complete memories and then memories into long minutes, hours, days... Those, in turn, snapped into their proper places in the infinitely long string. Harry watched in helpless rage as Dumbledore took his memories and put them together into his complete biography – every secret he'd ever held would soon be known to the mad Headmaster-

_NO._

It was like someone lit a candle in the dark. He couldn't conjure a flame himself, but when that first, small spark was given to him, he could enlarge and manipulate it however he wanted. That spark – it was enough.

"AARGH!" he yelled, and tackled Dumbledore again, this time inside his mind. The elder wizard's control broke and they were back in the attic again.

Harry rolled off of Dumbledore, the man's wand in his hand and pointed it in the Headmaster's general direction.

"_Tonare!_ You bastard, _TONARE!_"

He scrambled to his feet and fled from the room, through the unlocked door and down the stairs-

He tripped and fell flat on his stomach on the hardwood floor.

"Master Harry hurt Master!" Dumbledore's house elf squeaked, incensed. "Master Harry is a bad, bad wizard!"

Unreceptive to pain, dulled out by adrenaline, Harry seized the elf by the neck and hurled him against the wall, where he slid down to the floor, unconscious.

Harry got up again and looked around wildly. He spotted Dumbledore at the top of the stairs leading to the attic. His eyes were dark and his robes floated around him as magic sparkled in the air.

"Harry," he said, deadly serious. "That was uncalled for."

Harry wasn't thinking clearly.

"Go to hell. _Avada Kedavra!_"

He could see shock in Dumbledore's eyes as the man dove sideways to dodge.

Simultaneously, the attic door was ripped off its hinges and thrown in the path of lethal curse, and then reduced to splinters when the spell collided with it.

Harry was halfway down the next set of stairs by then and looking for a way out of the building. Seeing none and unwilling to waste time searching for it, he pointed the stolen wand at the wall.

He would _make_ himself an exit.

"_BOMBARDA!_"

A portion of the wall exploded outward, leaving behind a hole big enough for Harry to escape through. In the garden, he ran straight ahead, the only goal in his racing mind to get as far away from this place as possible-

He leapt over the picket fence and turned back for a moment. Of course, Dumbledore was already making his way through the debris, a familiar-looking holly wand in hand-

Harry still wasn't able to think clearly.

"Burn, you two-faced bastard," he hissed viciously, raising Dumbledore's wand. "_Ignis Maledictus!_"

The hellish flame surged from it, eagerly clawing at the fence, the grass…

Harry turned back and ran, a desire to be somewhere far away, somewhere that wasn't either Dumbledore's house or Grimmauld Place, or even Hogwarts burning in his mind...

With a loud crack, he vanished.

~~oOo~~

Snape stared in disbelief at Pettigrew standing over a bound and helpless Black.

"Severus," Pettigrew greeted him politely. Black, wisely, kept his mouth shut. "The Dark Lord didn't mention you'd be here."

"A coincidence," Snape said, thinking quickly. "I was nearby and felt something familiar."

Peter scrunched up his nose. "Ah, yes – you like visiting muggle bars, don't you? Truly, I have no idea why the Dark Lord tolerates you strange habits-"

"What are you going to do with him?" Snape interrupted, pointing at Black with his chin.

"I have orders," Wormtail said with a superior sniff, "from the Dark Lord himself. I was to apprehend Dumbledore's agent. I'm going to take him to our master."

Snape eyed Black critically, trying to wordlessly convey _-don't break my cover-_ and, he suspected, failing spectacularly. He could risk a Memory Charm, but the Dark Lord wasn't above sacrificing Pettigrew's sanity to learn the truth – and that in turn would mean a long and painful death for him.

"See that you do," he said at last. "I have my own business to attend to."

There was a soft pop as he apparated away, leaving Black behind, a look of utter betrayal on the mutt's face.

He reappeared several hundred yards away, in the dimly lit hallway of Grimmauld Place Twelve.

"Goddamn you, Black," he swore passionately.

~~oOo~~

Voldemort could not believe his luck.

It had taken several minutes before he fully regained control – he struggled to breathe and move his limbs as precious time bled away. By the time he felt right again, he knew, Wormtail would have already returned or he will have been captured. Potter wouldn't have wasted such an opportunity when he'd been smart enough to create it himself. With Wormtail, he would get his despicable godfather cleared of all charges, giving him a powerful ally. A pity, but hardly a serious stopper to his own plans.

He did not expect Wormtail to escape the clever trap – for all his skill at spying, he was a poor wizard. Therefore, Voldemort was understandably astonished when his cowardly servant returned triumphant, hauling a seething Sirius Black behind him.

He couldn't stop a malicious grin from blooming on his face – it just too _perfect._

"I must admit, Wormtail," he said, turning his gaze at his Death Eater, "I am pleasantly surprised."

"Thank you, master," the man replied, dropping to his knees.

"Perhaps I have underestimated you," Voldemort wondered, thoughtful.

"I do whatever my master requires," Wormtail answered with a fanatic gleam in his eyes.

"You shall be rewarded," the Dark Lord continued, actually meaning it. "And as for you, Master Black-"

Harry Potter's godfather looked up at him, proud and defiant.

"-I shall enjoy breaking you."


	6. Games, Part 1

**AN: **Yeah, not dead. Just busy.

**CHAPTER TWO: Games **

**Part 1**

Dumbledore regarded the destruction somberly. It had been tricky, extinguishing Fiendfyre with another person's wand, but he'd done it. He cursed himself, wishing that he hadn't slipped in Harry's presence. Recent events were a source of concern. He needed the boy to see him as a friend, an ally - and Dumbledore hadn't been successful on that front. But he was only human. Keeping up the facade of the good uncle of Wizarding Britain was becoming increasingly bothersome. He was tired of it.

Perhaps it was for the better. Or perhaps he had nothing to worry about. Harry had but glimpsed the persona under the mask and, truth be told, he wasn't the most perceptive child Dumbledore had met. Either way, he would find a solution. He always did.

Ever since he'd witnessed the prophecy being spoken that stormy night in Hog's Head, he'd become determined not to repeat his past mistakes. Tom Riddle had already began on a Dark path before coming to Hogwarts, but Albus' own inaction weighed heavily on his shoulders. Yes, Voldemort was his mistake, to an extent. He wasn't so arrogant to think that he could have prevented the Dark Lord's rise by himself, but he certainly could, _should_ have done more. He felt a measure of responsibility, just like he had felt responsible for Gellert decades ago. He supposed the average witch or wizard would argue that blaming himself for what Tom Riddle had become in the end was unreasonable, that it wasn't his fault... then again, an average person often doesn't understand that with power comes responsibility. He simply couldn't help feeling responsible for Harry Potter as well.

The boy was special, there was no denying that fact. Even if he hadn't been named in the prophecy, if there had been no prophecy at all, he still would have stood out from the crowd. His natural affinity to magic wasn't something found in every child. He was one of barely seven such exceptionally powerful individuals born in Britain this century. Mages of that caliber rarely grew up to become just another paper-pusher at the Ministry. The moment Albus saw the infant Harry Potter for the first time, he knew the boy was destined for greatness, in one way or another.

He mourned when Harry's parents died. Albus graduated from Hogwarts with Charles Potter, James' grandfather, and enjoyed a close friendship with the Potters.

Voldemort massacred the family shortly after Lily and James had gone into hiding in Godric's Hollow. Several such campaigns, aimed at eliminating influential families opposing him, had been carried out, but the tragedy that touched the Potters was the most devastating. Of the entire clan only three survived, thanks to the protection the Fidelius Charm provided.

Voldemort spared no one. Death Eaters hunted down even the most distantly related cousins, aunts and uncles. The Potters' ancestral home had been burned to the ground with Fiendfyre. Lion's share of the family's fortune was stolen by well-connected Death Eaters, who utilized obscure loopholes and the faintest of blood ties before Albus pushed his motion to freeze all accounts through the Wizengamot.

Lily and James never even found out. Albus hadn't the heart to burden them further when their lives were already endangered. He knew that he'd have to tell them eventually, but that hadn't been the time. He'd temporarily forbidden the Order from visiting – he didn't doubt Sirius would blurt everything out the moment he stepped through the door.

Fate, true to its twisted nature, relieved him of that grim duty in a most unpleasant way. Not a fortnight after Potter Hall had been destroyed, Peter Pettigrew led his master to Godric's Hollow.

Sirius valiantly and stupidly got himself incarcerated in Azkaban. Albus was just as shocked as everyone else. He wasn't aware there had been a change in Secret Keepers. The Chief Warlock at the time dismissed his proposal to hold a public trial. Sirius was tried in absentia by an Auror tribunal led by Barty Crouch. The evidence had been compelling and damning – as far as anyone was concerned, Sirius had been the Potters' Secret Keeper and by his own admission he had 'betrayed them'. His going after Peter had been the final nail to the coffin. When Albus was elected Chief Warlock, the country was still struggling with the aftermath of war and by the time it was heaved back to its feet, all records had already been sealed by Milicent Bagnold, mysteriously disappearing from the archives shortly after – Lucius' work, no doubt. Albus visited Sirius several times in those first few months, but he seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into apathy and showed no interest in his case.

With Sirius imprisoned, it fell to Albus, according to James and Lily's will, to find a suitable home for Harry. Remus had had to disappear – due to his lycanthropy he was unfit to even apply for adoption and with Fenrir Greyback's increased activity in the last months of the war, werewolves were forced to back out of public life for their own safety.

It put Albus in an uncomfortable situation. Like Remus, he was entirely unfit to serve as Harry's surrogate parent, though for different reasons. For those very reasons he never really committed to a romantic relationship, never married or had children. Ariana, Aberforth and Gellert were painful reminders of his past. That's why he'd decided on the next best, it had seemed, course of action: install Harry with his remaining family.

He'd only met Petunia a few times, most recently at Lily and James' funeral and, in all honesty, she hadn't left the best impression, but she was still Lily's sister. Surely she would take Harry in. Whatever differences she and Lily might have had, Albus thought she could be trusted with the boy's wellbeing.

How wrong he had been.

Now, Albus realized that a letter couldn't have been enough to explain the situation sufficiently. He should have paid the Dursleys a visit first. Alas, everything seems clearer in hindsight.

The decision to entrust Harry with Petunia had been influenced by the fact that she was his closest surviving blood relative, which allowed Albus to cast the most potent protections. They would have worked if Harry had lived with any of his distant cousins, of which there were a few, but Dursleys being muggles had the added benefit of having no ties whatsoever to the wizarding world, apart from Lily. Albus had wanted for Harry to grow up without his fame hanging overhead. Considering Dursleys' treatment of Harry, it was almost a miracle that the boy turned out as he had – a kind, humble soul.

Of course, that was before the graveyard.

Albus couldn't be sure, as his understanding of soul magic was... limited, but he could make an educated guess.

The horcrux, obviously. He couldn't think of any other reason for the abrupt changes in Harry's behavior.

He felt sadness, even self-loathing to an extent, over what Harry Potter had had to endure, but it was for the greater good of all. And it wasn't the worst thing the Headmaster of Hogwarts blamed himself for. He had many regrets, but he'd learned to hide his guilt deeply and not let it cloud his judgment.

Well, there was no point in crying over past mistakes. He could make sure there wouldn't be any more mistakes in the future. To that end, he needed to find Harry. Fortunately, the boy had taken his wand with him and it had a Tracking Charm on it.

He produced a small trinket from his robes and tapped it with Harry's wand, activating the Charm and frowned. It couldn't be...

He turned on his heel and walked briskly in the direction the Charm was pointing him. About two hundred yards from the remnants of his formerly white picket fence he found his wand – along with Harry Potter's fist clenched tightly around it.

"Oh, dear..."

He needed Severus.

~~oOo~~

He landed on all fours, breathing raggedly.

_What just happened? he thought. Did I apparate?_

Then he noticed that his right hand was missing.

"What the _hell?"_

The feeling was surreal; strangely, there was no pain, just dull numbness. He stared at the wound - it looked as if someone had sliced the hand cleanly off.

Shortly, the stupor passed, adrenaline flooded his system again and the world snapped into a sharper focus. After some struggling, he tore a sleeve off his shirt and somehow managed to wrap it around the stump before he investigated his surroundings.

_What is this place?_

He was inside of what seemed to be a ruined house. The room he was in lacked a ceiling and two walls. The floor – what remained of it – was covered in debris: broken furniture, bricks and glass. The moon provided just enough light to make it all out.

_I need to get out of here._

He walked through the room into a hallway. Fragments of the floor were missing, so he moved forward cautiously, stepping over large chunks of the roof that had fallen in. The staircase at the end was mostly intact, although he had to jump down because the few bottom steps were destroyed. He looked around again and spotted what appeared to be the front door.

The summer night was hot, the air heavy. He walked faster now, but still carefully, moving from shadow to shadow. Standing on the pavement, he noticed a large plaque in front of the ruined building.

_This house was left here, unaltered, as a monument to Lily and James Potter, who gave their lives for their son, Harry and all of Wizarding Britain on the 31st of October, 1981._

_Their sacrifice will not be forgotten._

Overwhelmed by a sudden rush of emotions, Harry collapsed to the ground, eyes darting from the sign to the ruin. He was taking gasps of air, his breath short and shallow, thoughts running wild.

_They died here. I almost died here._

Barely moments later instinct took over and grief turned to anger. He had trouble getting a hang of it lately, since the graveyard. Still, he preferred being angry. At least it didn't make him feel weak.

"Get a grip, Potter. Get up," he whispered to himself. He had to decide what to do next.

He couldn't deal with Dumbledore right now. The Headmaster's unexpected assault had only happened minutes ago. Considering that he had retaliated with lethal force, it was probably better to stay away from the man for a while. He would have to go back eventually, but not right now. He needed time to figure out an explanation for his actions.

There was more. The name he'd heard in Voldemort's mind.

_What does Grindelwald have to with Voldemort? Dumbledore defeated him before Tom Riddle even graduated from Hogwarts._

He had questions that needed answering, about Voldemort and this horcrux. Whatever it was, it was obviously important to Voldemort.

_What do I do now?_

His best chance was contacting Sirius, but he was Merlin knows where – he only knew that Godric's Hollow was in Wales. Not much to go on. It would be no problem for the Knight Bus, but he didn't have a wand. And besides, he had no money. Most of all, he'd rather not be seen like this. There would be too many questions.

Could he apparate again? He doubted it. He had no idea how he did and even if he tried, he wasn't in any state to try advanced magic.

Resigned, he slumped against the fence. The Order was probably looking for him already. He had no options other than waiting and hoping that Dumbledore wouldn't lock him up again, or take him to the Ministry. Technically, he'd committed a crime. Using an Unforgivable against another person was punishable by an Azkaban sentence. Would Dumbledore throw him in prison? Would he give him a chance to explain?

Oh hell, _could_ he even explain? He hadn't been thinking straight and it was the first spell that came to mind. He honestly didn't know how he felt about that.

Was it possible that Voldemort's memories had given him more than just knowledge? Were Dark Arts that as insidious as various authors made them out to be? Or was he just going crazy?

_With all that's happened, I wouldn't be surprised if I was._

There was a sound in the distance. Apparition? A twig snapping?

Was he hearing things now?

_I can't stay here,_ he decided.

Leaning heavily on the fence, he stood up and slinked into shadows under a nearby cluster of trees. The village was picturesque, with greenery decorating the street among sparsely situated houses. The infrastructure seemed to be getting denser down the street to his right – he could make out a small shop and a large, three-story building that stood out among the others, all of it illuminated by the soft orange light cast by streetlamps.

To his left, the cobbled road curved out of sight, disappearing behind a low wall.

_Better to stay out of sight._

He crossed the street and started walking away from the village, moving in and out of shadows cast by the roadside trees. He moved at a brisk pace, teeth grit, trying to keep his mind off the pain in his right hand. As the shock passed, the feeling returned and pain grew just a little more unbearable with every passing minute.

His eyes wandered as sweat poured down his face, making him correct his slipping glasses as they continuously slid down to the tip of his nose. Eventually he yanked them off and jammed them into a pocket, not caring if they broke. He thought he could see well enough by the moonlight to keep moving, until he walked face-first into a large sign. Standing under a tree, the sign blended with its surroundings and Harry didn't see it until his nose collided with it painfully. He stumbled back with and angry yell. The new, throbbing feeling in his nose – it was probably broken – took his mind of the burning sensation in his hand. He'd take his blessings as they came.

He put his glasses back on. He'd rather deal with them slipping off than walking into a tree next time. Naturally, his gaze gravitated towards the sign.

GODRIC'S HOLLOW CEMETERY

Time stopped for a moment. Those three words somehow weighed even more heavily on his mind than the memorial plaque in front of his childhood home.

_They're here._

Only half-conscious of what he was doing, Harry followed the path through the iron-wrought gate. The stone path divided into several more, leading further into the cemetery between rows of tombstones. Ho followed one at random, his eyes searching the inscriptions. None of the names seemed familiar.

The cemetery was quite large for what he assumed to be a small village. Eventually he reached a rectangular square, with a small chapel to his left. Four widest paths were lined with tall trees and the square itself was framed by flowerbeds. In the middle of the square darker stones formed a curious symbol – a line inside of a circle, inside of a triangle. He was certain he'd seen in before, but couldn't recall where.

He had no idea where he was going, letting his instinct guide him. He maneuvered between the graves, soon reaching an area sequestered from the rest of the cemetery by a row of decorative bushes. He felt a tingle of magic on his skin. It was a feeling familiar to anyone who had ever set foot in Hogwarts.

_Muggle-repelling charms. This must be the wizarding part of this place._

Scanning the names here, he recognized several of them. One, unknown to him, held his attention for a long moment. The same triangular symbol was etched into the stone below the name.

"Ignotus Peverell," he said quietly. "Curious."

A little further in, he found another surprise:

Kendra Dumbledore

And next to this grave was another, smaller one:

Ariana Dumbledore

"Of those Dumbledores?" he wondered. The gravestones looked old, though cared for. There was a vase holding a fresh bouquet of flowers on each.

He'd never given any thought to the Headmaster's family. It was strange, trying to imagine him as a child. What was he like back then?

He abandoned those thoughts when he spotted another name. His own.

His parents had been laid to rest in a common grave, their names side by side. The gravestone was spotless and there were fresh flowers here as well – someone had visited recently.

_Was it Dumbledore? Sirius?_

Whoever it was, they hadn't brought him along. Why? Why had he never been to his parents' grave before now? Did Dumbledore think it was too dangerous? There were plenty of opportunities to come here before Voldemort was resurrected.

So many questions. So few answers. So much anger.

There was something fundamentally wrong, he felt, with giving into his most base emotion here of all places, but he wasn't in the mood to contemplate anymore.

"I know what I have to do. _I will kill him._ Whatever it takes," he said, his voice vibrating. "I promise."

He knelt in front of the grave, staying still for what seemed like a very long time, but couldn't have been more than a minute.

What happened next was so unexpected that he broke out of his trance immediately.

"Those are powerful words. Especially when backed by such resolve."

"Who's here?" he demanded, springing to his feet.

"In my defense, I was here first," the voice said. Then, a man in dark blue robes stepped out the shadows. "I was visiting my brother, you see."

"Who are you?"

The stranger smiled. His sharp features lent the expression a predatory look.

"Why so hostile, Mr. Potter? I have no intention of attacking you."

"I make it a point to distrust people who sneak up on me."

The man nodded. "Fair enough. I would probably do the same if I were you. But I assure you, you have nothing to fear from me here. This is a sacred place. I won't befoul it with violence."

"How do you know who I am?"

The smile grew wider.

"Ha! Who doesn't know Harry Potter?"

"And who are you?" Harry repeated.

The man gave a small bow.

"Jervis Mulciber. My pleasure." Mulciber came closer, his gaze fixed on Harry. "I knew your father."

Harry hesitated. He knew so little about his parents… but this man didn't seem like the most trustworthy sort. Still…

"Did you? On a friendly basis, perhaps?"

Mulciber laughed. "Oh, Merlin no. He hated me. Not at first, of course. In the beginning, it was just a typical Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry. James was quite an opponent in the dueling circle. He abhorred losing."

"Nobody likes losing," Harry said.

Mulciber looked at him again. "Quite right."

"So what did you do to make him hate you?"

The grin was back. "I became a Death Eater."

Harry felt his stomach drop.

_Death Eater…_

He was unarmed, alone with a Death Eater in a remote place. He would need a miracle to find a way out of this mess.

_Just my fucking luck,_ he thought. _I should have stayed with Dumbledore, damn it!_

"You look terrible," Mulciber said. "Did you know your nose is broken? I imagine you may have failed to notice that when your hand is missing. You've splinched, I'm guessing. Painful."

"How did you find me?" Harry asked. "How did he know?"

"How did who know what?" Mulciber asked back. His amusement only made Harry tense up further.

"Voldemort," he snapped. "How did he know I was here?"

A quiet laugh.

"I doubt the Dark Lord knows you're here. He doesn't even know I'm here. And even if-"

Mulciber stopped mid-sentence, his taunting little smile gone in a flash.

"We'll have to finish this some other time," he said and disappeared with a snap of apparition.

Harry spun around, searching for the reason of Mulciber's sudden departure. No more than a second could have passed before Dumbledore apparated several feet away. Relief mixed with dread flooded him.

"Professor," he said, exhaling deeply.

Dumbledore stood relaxed, hands clasped behind his back.

_Even my miracles are strange. _

"Harry," Dumbledore said. "It seems you have misplaced yourself again."

The silence that fell between them was, heavy, suffocating. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, just to break it-

"I am so sorry, Harry."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. Definitely not what he was expecting.

"You.. _You_ are sorry," he deadpanned. "Well, if we're starting with apologies, I'm sorry too."

"I assume you're referring to the Killing Curse you tried to cast at me," the Headmaster said. "It's quite alright. I understand why you did it."

"I… really don't know what to say now."

"You needn't say anything. In fact, I'll ask you to listen. I have more than apology to make, but that can wait. Your hand needs taking care of."

Harry glanced down at wound – the primitive bandage was completely soaked and dripping blood on his shoes. He'd completely forgotten about it.

"This might sting a little," Dumbledore warned.

"What-"

He received no further warning. His nose snapped with a sickening crunch and righted itself. Then his hand was set on fire – that what it felt like, though there were no flames. The blood vanished, the wound wasn't bleeding anymore and then the pain was gone, replaced by a cool, smooth sensation.

"The Numbing Charm should help, but it's only a temporary measure. Your hand must be reattached at once. Why don't you take a seat there," Dumbledore said, pointing to a bench.

"Is it safe to stay here?"

"At the risk of sounding boastful, you have nothing to fear as long as I'm here. In any case, reinforcements are coming."

"But why-"

"We can't risk magical travel in your state," Dumbledore explained, reaching into his robes. "Severus will perform a field procedure."

"Snape," Harry spat. "Does it have to be him? Does the Order have no one else for this sort of thing?"

"There is indeed a Healer in our ranks, but he's quite busy at the moment. I'm afraid his responsibilities cannot be ignored."

Dumbledore produced what looked like a silver lighter from his robes, clicked it, and a bright orb flew out of it, casting soft light around. Not a minute later a series of apparition pops resounded and several Order members, Tonks among them, came into view.

She and three others positioned themselves in a circle. Dumbledore walked up to her and they started talking in hushed tones.

Snape, also present, strode up to Harry carrying a small bag, the usual scowl on his face. Whipping out his wand, he summoned a stray pebble from the ground and transfigured it into a small table.

"Place your hand here," he ordered. He then tapped Harry's arm and the bandage flew off. Bleeding resumed as well. Snape then reached into the bag, retrieving a small bundle. Unwrapping it, he placed Harry's missing hand in front of the stump.

It was a bizarre sight.

"There are two ways to do this," Snape said. "I could leave the Numbing Charm in place, but the process will take longer. Or I could remove it, subjecting you to intense, short-lived pain and be done with it much faster."

"Take the spell off," Harry decided. "I'm accustomed to pain."

"I didn't say you had a choice, Potter," Snape said. Another tap of his wand and the pain returned. "We haven't the time to sit here and wait while you heal. Drink this."

The Potions Master handed him a vial of Skele-Gro. Harry glared at it.

_This is going to suck, isn't it?_

Grimacing at the awful taste, he downed the potion. Then Snape gave him another one.

"What is this?"

"Skele-Gro is slow-working on its own, as I'm sure you remember. This will speed up the process."

Skele-Gro was already taking effect and the long-forgotten feeling of having a million splinters lodged in his arm appeared as Harry grew more irritated with each passing second.

And then Snape presented yet another potion.

"And what is this for?" Harry demanded.

Snape glared, but indulged him.

"One potion for the bone, one for soft tissue. Drink!"

On top of everything, a nagging itch developed in his arm. Harry went to scratch it out, but Snape spelled his other arm to snap to his side.

"It needs a minute to start working properly."

Harry doubted Snape would try anything purposefully nasty with Dumbledore around, but still couldn't help wondering if Snape wasn't just doing that to see him squirm.

Finally, he laid Harry's separated hand in front of his arm, so that they almost touched. He then conjured a cloth and held it to Harry's mouth.

"Bite down on that," he said. "I don't want to reattach your tongue as well."

Harry did as told and nodded. Snape pointed his wand at his arm and started chanting rapidly in some foreign-sounding language. Parts of the arm snapped together. Bone, muscle and skin moved and stretched, reconnecting.

Harry screamed through the cloth.

~~oOo~~

Hermione couldn't sleep.

Everything was happening so quickly that it overwhelmed her and Hermione found herself wasting time, something that she normally tried to avoid at all costs. Time, she always told herself, was too precious to be spent on doing nothing. Now, however, she couldn't find anything to do. She was in the house of one of the most notorious families of Wizarding Britain and she could think about was Harry and worried she was and how furious for making her worry.

When Harry was staying with his relatives, her days were already stressful enough. Now Sirius was probably trapped somewhere in You-Know-Who's dungeon and Harry was... well, not here. It took away her vigor. She didn't care if everybody noticed, but it annoyed her that they wouldn't leave her alone.

Ron, who had apparently decided to become her shadow, was the first to suggest that 'maybe we could, erm, do something... you know, together'. Hermione just glared at him and asked why he wasn't worried about Harry and Sirius, when there was every reason to. He didn't answer, but at least he'd kept his mouth shut since then.

Mrs. Weasley had been more insisting, so Hermione compromised by eating whatever she put on her plate, four times a day. It seemed to keep her satisfied, for now. Fred and George locked themselves in their bedroom, behind a set of impressive silencing charms and hardly paid attention to anyone else.

Order members came and went throughout the next day and night, sometimes sharing some news, none of which, regrettably, had concerned Harry or Sirius so far. Professor Lupin tried to talk to her, but quickly gave up when she didn't answer – no doubt he had more important things to do than comforting a teenager and Hermione preferred it that way.

Only one person seemed utterly disinterested in her and, ironically, it intrigued Hermione enough to want to make an effort and find out why.

"Hey Ginny," she said quietly, sitting down next to the red-haired girl in the living room.

"Hey," Ginny said back. "Did you want something?"

Hermione didn't really know what to say. Why did she come here, exactly?

"I guess... I wanted to thank you," she said at last. "For not pestering me."

"I know you and Harry are close," she said. "It's okay to be worried about him. And it's nobody else's business how you do the worrying."

"Thanks. Although..."

"Although what?" Ginny asked, not raising her eyes from the book she was reading.

"I don't know if we're that close anymore."

"What makes you say that?"

"He's been distant lately," Hermione said. "It started a while ago... just after the Tournament..."

"He fought Voldemort," Ginny said simply. "He's probably still working it out."

"I know." Hermione's gaze slid across the book in Ginny's hands. The title was obscure. "What are you reading?"

Ginny closed the book suddenly, startling Hermione. "Do you like him?"

Hermione blinked in confusion. "What do you-"

"Harry," Ginny said flatly. "Do you like him?"

"Of course I do," Hermione answered. "He's my-"

"Friend," Ginny interrupted again. "Of course. You know what I mean, Hermione. Stop dodging the question."

Hermione sunk deeper into the armchair. "It's a very personal question, Ginny. And you're being quite rude, to be honest."

"Because if you do," Ginny continued, "you should do something about it, before someone else decides you've had your chance and their patience runs out."

"Ginny, are you telling me you-"

"Yes. And I respect your friendship with Harry... But I think time has come for me to be more selfish."

With that, Ginny took her book and marched out of the room, not sparing Hermione another glance.

Hermione stared at Ginny's now empty chair.

_What's gotten into her?_

She and Ginny weren't very close, but they were on good terms. Or had been, at least.

_First Harry starts acting differently, then Ginny... I wonder when Ron decides that studying isn't a complete waste of time after all._

~~oOo~~

The Order member seemed nervous, though he couldn't tell if it was because of him. Did Dumbledore tell them what happened?

He hoped not.

Tonks was particularly on edge, but he didn't get the chance to talk to her. As soon his hand was reattached – thankfully, the procedure was short – Dumbledore whisked him away. A whirl of apparition and they were in his Hogwarts office. The circular room looked as warm and welcoming as always. Fawkes greeted them with a cheerful trill from his perch. The portraits were snoozing in their frames, a few of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses were absent.

"You must be exhausted," Dumbledore said, "but there are some things that need to be said and I believe they shouldn't wait any longer."

"I thought it was impossible to apparate at Hogwarts, sir," Harry said, with an undercurrent of caution obvious in the tone of his voice. As much he wanted it, he couldn't believe that Dumbledore would just put the incident at his home behind them.

Dumbledore winked at him. "Being Headmaster had its perks. Why don't you sit down."

Harry did.

"Tea?"

"Um, why not."

One of the house elves popped in a moment later and soon Harry was cradling a cup of tea in his hands.

"Sir, what did you mean? In the cemetery?"

He risked looking Dumbledore in the eye.

Nothing.

He was daring the man to try, but the Headmaster merely looked on sadly.

"I feel... ashamed," Dumbledore began. "I've always considered myself to be a rather clever person, but even clever people can fall prey to simple human vices. Pride, fear... I wasn't above them. I'm telling you this, so that you understand. At the time of Voldemort's rise, I had already forgotten what war was like. Well, perhaps that's not the best way to put it... I remembered the second World War and dueling Gellert Grindelwald, but thirty years of peace have lulled me into a false sense of safety, like many others. I was finally free to pursue my interests and I thought fighting was over for me. I was wrong."

"You see, even at its worst, Grindelwald's war never truly reached our shores. Most of the fighting took place on the continent. Compared to France, for example, Britain was quite safe. That's one of the reasons why our diplomatic relations with France have been on the cold side ever since - our leaders at the time decided not to get involved and refused help beyond the most basic humanitarian efforts. Even I only intervened when it was obvious that things have taken a worse turn for Gellert and his allies. Still, I did my part – Gellert was captured and imprisoned in a fortress he built himself."

"Voldemort... was different than his predecessor. He operated in more subtle ways, being ill-suited for open warfare. Years passed before we even noticed something was happening. Voldemort predicted that, of course, and acted decisively – we were just beginning to mount a defense while hewas ready to launch an assault. But that's enough history for the moment."

"I feel ashamed because I was the one to bring Voldemort into our world. I can't help but feel responsible when it was my inaction that pushed Tom Riddle onto a Dark path. It is a burden I shall carry even if he is defeated."

"Pardon me, Professor, but what does all of that have to do with me?"

"I said earlier that you and Voldemort were alike and I stand by that statement."

Harry bristled. "I'm _not_ like Voldemort."

"The suggestion offends you, because when you look at Voldemort, you see a powerful Dark Lord, willing to murder infants to achieve his goals. But I knew Voldemort before he became like that. If you had seen what I have, you'd understand. I have never met two people so different and yet so alike."

"You are both halfbloods, orphaned at a young age. You both grew up in... difficult environments. You're both scions of powerful bloodlines and talented wizards yourselves. Each of you commands respect of others. And you possess a certain charisma, though Voldemort's is... more subtle. Most importantly, however, you were both forced to make difficult choices very early into your lives. More often than not, there were no 'good' options to choose from – only greater and lesser evils. The difference between you is that Tom Riddle was refused help – by myself, no less. I let myself by held back by my superiors... Instead of doing the right thing, I chose what was easy."

"When you entered this school, Harry, I was reminded of my failure with Tom every time I looked at you. I was determined to avoid making the same mistake again, which, with the prophecy in place, could become my greatest one yet. And that is why I owe you an apology."

Harry sank into the chair, thoughts running wild.

"I've never been very eloquent," he said after a long silence. "But now I find myself more speechless than I thought was possible."

Dumbledore nodded in understanding. "I understand the reason behind your rather spectacular escape from my house. Facing Voldemort in his true form must have been quite a terrifying eye-opener. I cannot fault you for seeking a way to bridge the gap between him and yourself. I just wish you had come to me before probing the Dark Lord's mind. Dark Arts are powerful, but they're hardly 'the power he knows not'."

"So what now?" Harry asked cautiously. "Do we just... forget what happened? Move on?"

"I admit that I am not blameless," Dumbledore said. "In fact, you could argue that most of the blame falls on me and you wouldn't be wrong. Your usage of the Killing Curse is quite easily explained."

"I can't believe you actually said that. I... well, it was the heat of the moment, but… I tried to kill you."

"Your inability to summon your Patronus and successful casting of Fiendfyre also fit into that explanation, as well your... erratic behavior. Dark Arts are feared for a good reason, Harry. Dark magic affects the mind. Many ambitious witches and wizards sacrificed their sanity for power that it promised."

"Are you telling me I'm going insane?" Harry asked flatly.

"Not at all," the Headmaster replied. "It would take considerable effort on your part to reach that stage. You are, however, beyond the point of no return."

"That's... ominous."

"Your connection to Voldemort must have quickened the process," Dumbledore mused. "I fear that from now on, you shall have to rely on fire to drive off dementors. Some kinds of magic, like the Patronus Charm, are lost to you." Dumbledore gave him a serious look. "You don't seem surprised."

"I was in Voldemort's head, Professor," Harry said with a shrug. "I knew what I was getting into. Mostly."

Harry fought with himself over his next question.

"Have you never used Dark Arts yourself?"

Dumbledore's fingers formed a series of steep arcs.

"No. I have never dabbled in Dark magic. I came close in my youth, but… certain events turned me away from it. The Killing Curse is one of its worst manifestations. To be completely honest, I didn't think you capable of casting it successfully, even after your display with Fiendfyre two days ago."

"What about Moody?" Harry blurted out. "He demonstrated it last year in class."

"You know that was an impostor," Dumbledore said.

"Yes, but wouldn't that have been a clue that something was wrong with him, when he started using Dark magic in front of students?" Harry demanded. "Crouch wasn't stupid - he wouldn't have compromised himself like that."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "True," he admitted. "Alastor has extensive experience with certain aspects of Dark magic – like some other Aurors who fought in the last war. Miss Tonks, on the other hand, could probably give you a nosebleed if she really tried."

Harry stared into his cup of tea.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked gently. "You look like you want to say something."

"Dark magic," Harry snapped. "You make it sound like it's the worst thing in the world."

"I wouldn't go that far… in fact, many healing spells used today have their roots in Dark Arts. But their reputation is well-earned. Dark magic is dangerous."

"I could burn a man to death with a Fire Charm if I wanted to," Harry argued. "Doesn't that make it Dark magic as well?"

"It's a common mistake," Dumbledore said, "to discard the concept of inherently Dark magic when there are many seemingly harmless spells that one could use in a harmful manner."

"Why is it a mistake? It makes sense to me," Harry said. "I could use the Banishing Charm to slam someone into a wall. I could use the Locking Charm to trap someone in a box and throw it into the sea. I could-"

"I see you point, Harry. You're not the first to bring it up," Dumbledore said. "Allow me to elaborate. It's true that there are many ways to maim or even kill someone with magic not traditionally used for those purposes. But let's reverse the situation. What other application can you think of for the Killing Curse, other than the obvious?"

"There is a difference between killing and murder," Harry said. "The Killing Curse is supposed to be painless... It could be used to putting terminally ill out of their misery."

Dumbledore stayed silent.

"What?" Harry snapped at him.

"So you are unable to name another use for the Killing Curse besides taking a life."

"Killing isn't always wrong," Harry insisted.

"There are worse things than death, yes," Dumbledore agreed. "But the Killing Curse does more than its name implies. It separates a soul from the body - tears the two apart. Parting of body and soul in any way that isn't natural is a terrible thing."

"The Imperius Curse," Harry tried again. "I know how it feels. It could be used to ease pain."

"Yes, the feeling is quite pleasant," Dumbledore said. "As long as you don't fight it. Then it becomes rather uncomfortable, doesn't it?"

"That's not-"

"The relief comes at the price of one's free will."

"You're twisting my words!" Harry snarled.

"If you were in pain, Harry," Dumbledore continued, "would you consent to having your will taken from you, just to ease the suffering?"

Harry cringed. _No,_ he thought. _I wouldn't._

Dumbledore had a point.

"You must understand," the Headmaster urged, "that there are kinds of magic that can serve many purposes. But there are some whose only purpose is to cause damage and harm."

"But even harmful magic has its place," Harry said.

"Does it?" Dumbledore asked. "If, as you said, there are ways to hurt your opponents without resorting to Dark magic, why do we need it?"

Harry looked away. He had to admit that Dumbledore was winning that debate.

"Dark magic," Harry tried, "has an appeal. You can't blame-"

"Blame you for giving into it?" Dumbledore interrupted.

Harry glared at him. "We're not talking about me."

"I thought we were."

_"__You thought wrong!"_

Harry bolted up from the chair and paced around for a moment, taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself. What was he supposed to say?

"Look, Professor, the last few months have been really stressful. Yes, I cast the Killing Curse, but you invaded my mind, you tried to tear all my secrets… You took your guilt out on me. I know that we need to work together, but my mind is the last bastion of privacy I have left. You can't expect me to just give it up."

"Agreed," Dumbledore said. "Emotions ran high and we both did things we shouldn't have. But I must ask you to tell me what you saw in Voldemort's mind."

Harry thought about it for a moment. He could tell Dumbledore what he saw, in the vaguest terms... but nothing more.

"I saw… a fortress. Nurmengard. I heard the name 'Grindelwald' and the word 'horcrux'…"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "I hardly think that's all. You've been at it all summer."

"I learned a bit about Dark Arts-"

"'A bit' is not sufficient to use Fiendfyre, Harry."

"Can I just say something before you judge me further?" Harry asked. "In the graveyard... I was completely outmatched. If not for the _Priori Incantatem_ effect, I would be _dead."_

"I am not judging you," Dumbledore said. "I understand why you did what you did. But you must also understand… Dark magic leaves a mark on one's soul. You are still a student in this school and I would be remiss in my duties if I didn't warn you of the danger it poses. And Harry… feeling outmatched by Lord Voldemort is nothing to be ashamed of. He has few equals and no real betters."

"He has his Death Eaters. I'm sure any of them could wipe the floor with me."

"I think you're scared and you underestimate yourself. But yes, Voldemort's veteran followers are all adult wizards in the prime of their lives," the Headmaster replied. "You're very young, Harry. You could hardly be expected to duel grown wizards."

Harry snapped.

"SO WHAT?" he yelled. "So what if I'm only fifteen, only a kid? It just makes me feel even more helpless and _I hate. Being. Helpless._ I _hate_ having to rely on others. My whole life before Hogwarts, I could only count on myself. And then magic comes along, and Dark Lords and Potions Masters and little shits like Malfoy, whose only goal in life is to make mine miserable, all because of some bullshit prophecy!"

"Fate is often unkind," Dumbledore said. "But we must make the best of what life offers us."

"Well then fuck fate!" Harry snarled. "And fuck the stupid prophecy, and fuck you too. You put so much faith in it, expect me to deal with Voldemort, but when I try do something to even the odds, you lock me up, get in my head and blame me for everything! You know, sometimes I wish that stupid letter had never come. I was just starting to get a hang of the muggle world, and then-"

"Harry, please!" Dumbledore's voice struck like a whip. "Control yourself."

"Easy for you to say!"

"I understand better than most what is being asked of you, believe me," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps even better than you do yourself."

"If I am to fight, I have to cheat," Harry argued. "I can't win by obeying all the rules the 'good guys' follow. Voldemort will not wait forty years until I'm ready. And Dark magic is powerful."

"It is," Dumbledore agreed. "It can grant power to the weak and it will do so quickly, but the price you must pay for that power is not something to be taken lightly. You've already paid some of it and if you insist on studying Dark Arts further, I cannot presume to know what else you'll have to give up."

"It's my decision," Harry said. "I'll pay the price, if that's what it takes."

Dumbledore regarded him seriously. "You're right about one thing. It is your decision. And it's too late to change your mind... even if you wanted to."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You said it yourself, Harry. Dark magic has an appeal - it's almost irresistible. At the very least, if you're going to study it, you shall do so sensibly, with the right teachers. But we can discuss that later. There is still the matter of your connection to Voldemort."

"It won't be a problem," Harry interrupted.

"Forgive me, Harry, but I require concrete proof. I trust you. I don't trust Voldemort."

"Very well. Cards on the table," Harry said. "I knew where and when Wormtail would be, because _I_ sent him there."

_I'm sure you can figure that out._

Dumbledore stared at him blankly for a moment and then his eyes were alight with a mischievous twinkle.

"I can only imagine how displeased Voldemort must have been to find himself... out of control."

"He shut the connection down himself."

The twinkle died.

"Once again, Harry, you've shown the ability to think on your feet. Voldemort has repeatedly underestimated you... But he's not the only one prone to repeating that particular mistake."

A sudden, unexplained feeling of dread settled in his stomach.

"What are you saying, Professor?"

"I regret to inform you that Sirius has been captured."


	7. Games, Part 2

.

**CHAPTER TWO: Games**

**Part 2**

Sirius sat in the darkest corner of his cell, as he used to do during his time in Azkaban. He would sit, unmoving, his unfocused mind wondering. At least now he had something to occupy his hands with.

The necklace. He found it several months ago, when he'd decided to go and inspect his family home. He found it abandoned, except for Kreacher, who spent his days catering to his mother's portrait's every whim and mourning Regulus.

Ah yes, Regulus. He had been his parents' favorite, a proper pureblood – proper Black. Regulus paid attention during their tutoring sessions and was ever eager to please their demanding mother. He would always learn the dance steps first and enjoyed hearing about the exploits of House Black. Sirius despised him. There were very few people he held in more contempt. Voldemort. Wormtail. Severus bloody Snape.

Like many others, Regulus had been enamored with Voldemort's vision of a bright future and the promise of prosperity for witches and wizards everywhere – save for mudbloods, of course. He joined the Death Eaters while he was still in school, coming Lucius' tutelage. Sirius was already tearing his way through the Auror training program with James and Remus. It didn't matter, back then, that Moony was a werewolf – the Ministry needed every willing man and woman to bolster their ranks. They weren't going to turn away a talented duelist, not when so many of them were serving Voldemort. Old Milicent Bagnold was batshit crazy, but a decent human being. No wonder they pushed her out as soon they could after the war.

Regulus wasn't about to be outdone by his brother - he'd been Voldemort's informant at Hogwarts, in Snape's place. Sirius never believed the rumors that Regulus had seen the error of his ways and attempted to defect to Dumbledore's side – there was no evidence to support the rumors, apart from vague statements made by some of the convicted Death Eaters and Sirius was reluctant to believe anything they said.

So when he returned to Grimmauld Place, he stormed into his brother's old bedroom and wrecked it – he'd torn a scaled-down version of the family tree off the wall, broke the heavy mahogany desk in half and reduced the bed sheets to feathers. He'd piled the clothes, a Death Eater's robes and mask among them, on the floor and burned everything to a crisp, fueling the fire with anything that looked remotely flammable.

And then he found it.

It had been hidden in a well-warded drawer of the ruined desk. A gold pendant, embedded with an 'S' made of tiny green gemstones, hanging from a matching, finely crafted chain. He wanted to destroy it as well, melt the metal and leave it there, in a scorching puddle. But he couldn't.

It was filled with magic, Dark magic. Sirius had never seen anything like it. He knew, rationally, that not destroying it was probably a bad idea, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

He took the locket for himself. He had it on his person at all times. Even in the shower, the gold glittered around his neck. Sirius hungrily drunk the magic it contained.

When it wasn't on his neck, he had it in a pocket somewhere. He had it on when he met Harry in the cave outside Hogsmeade and when he guarded his godson in the hospital wing at Hogwarts after the Third Task. He had it with him now.

Eventually, Sirius realized that the necklace wasn't just a well of magic. It held knowledge as well, knowledge of some of the nastiest, Darkest magic there was. A normal person would be appalled by it. Dark magic was a strange beast - ugly on the outside, but the deeper you went, the more intriguing and alluring it became, the more it pulled you in and before you knew it, you couldn't go on without it. It was an addiction of the worst kind, because there was no going back, under any circumstances and you had no choice but to satiate the burning hunger for more or lose your mind.

When he started receiving memories from it - incomplete, just images and sounds and smells - Sirius felt like freaking out was the reasonable thing to do, especially since the artifact had stopped only giving and started taking. But, of course, he still kept the locket, because he was just that stubborn - or perhaps the artifact's magic had too strong a grasp on him by then.

Slowly, it attempted to chip away Sirius' personality, as if it wanted to supplement his very soul for that of its creator. Well, Sirius decided he'd be damned before he gave in. If there was one positive thing about having spent twelve years in Azkaban, it was that life in prison had hardened him. He wasn't going to let a piece of jewelry succeed where Azkaban had failed.

Besides, assimilating the Dark magic wasn't as taxing for him as, he suspected, it would have been for someone like James, who'd been born into a family who only saw the bad side of Dark Arts and brought up to revere Albus Dumbledore as the paragon of goodness. It was one James' few truly annoying qualities: the black and white view of Dark magic had been ingrained in him to such a degree that he refused to have anything to do with it. This difference of opinions had been the reason behind their falling out in sixth year. Peter stuck by James, as he always had. Remus had more than a passing interest in some aspects of Dark Arts and Sirius was happy to indulge him. It almost tore the Marauders apart.

Almost. In the end, their friendship survived and was strengthened by this experience. Still, James never came around on the issue. Sirius often thought that perhaps if he had approached the debate with a cooler head, he could have succeeded and introduced James to some of the subtler aspects of Dark Arts, but he never got the chance before they graduated and after Hogwarts, war was the only thing on their minds.

Sirius hated what was left of his own family with a passion for what they had made him endure, but he was a Black through and through and Blacks were named such for a reason.

Not without difficulty, he prevailed. There had been some close calls, but in the end, he managed to tip the scales in his favor permanently. He still had to be on his guard, of course.

He'd asked himself countless times – should he tell Dumbledore? Or Harry, perhaps? Maybe Remus? But the answer was always the same.

Absolutely fucking no.

It would be an insane thing to do – he doubted convincing anyone that his decision to keep the locket had been the right one was even possible. Especially Harry, who must hate Voldemort more than anyone else, or Dumbledore, who'd never even touched Dark magic. He would be in St. Mungo's Ward for the Unhinged and Otherwise Mentally Impaired before he could explain anything further.

He didn't want to part with the locket, however, so he hid it in plain sight. To everyone else, it appeared as the Black Family Seal on a silver chain. The actual Ring sat, invisible, on his finger, as it was supposed to. Initially he feared that Dumbledore or Moody might see through the spell, but thankfully, they hadn't. In Grimmauld Place, the house's magic strengthened that of its Master.

Now, in the darkness of his cell, Sirius sat, opening and closing the locket, over and over again. Barely anything was left in it still. He predicted it would be drained completely within days, if not hours. It was a good thing, he thought. When the process was complete, he could destroy the locket and none would be the wiser.

In the several hours that had passed since his capture – he was furious with himself for getting caught by Peter of all people – the Dark Lord had been to see him only once. When he came, Sirius stashed the locket in the corner of the cell, where a piece of stonework had been chipped away.

Voldemort did not taunt or torture him. He merely stared at him passively, and Sirius stared back. That silent contest went on for several excruciatingly long minutes, until the Dark Lord looked away, a bored expression on his face, and spoke in a tone one might use when discussing weather.

"I am willing to give you a chance to join my ranks, Master Black."

"Why, that is awfully generous of you," Sirius said thoughtfully. "But no."

"You are a talented wizard," Voldemort continued. "And correct me if I'm mistaken, but there have been rumors that you used to be one of my most trusted lieutenants. My right hand, in fact." He paused and his crimson eyes flashed a dark red. "Who knows – if you prove as skilled as my Death Eaters claim you are, the rumors... could cease just being rumors."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Which part of the word 'no' did you not understand? It's just two letters."

"I tell you this in confidence… you intrigue me." A hint of amusement could be heard in the Dark Lord's voice. "Rarely do I meet people who don't quiver in fear at the mere sight of me."

"You must be associating with the wrong people then," Sirius replied. "There are plenty of those who don't deflate when some wanker glares at them. I've always thought that Death Eaters were twats – hiding behind masks and all that. Now I know why."

Voldemort let the insult slide. "Perhaps I haven't made myself clear, Black. You are being given a choice – join me willingly... or not."

"Not join you, or not willingly?"

"You regard yourself as witty and amusing, don't you, Master Black," Voldemort said.

"Well, you seem amused," Sirius pointed out. "So I'd say my high opinion of myself is rather justified."

Voldemort was silent for a moment.

"We shall talk again soon," he said at last, and left.

Since then, Sirius had seen no one. His food – a surprisingly delicious stew – appeared magically, along with a pint of beer.

Out of habit, he muttered detection spells over the meal, finding both free of poison. Well, he wasn't going to say no to a tasty stew.

He would need his strength for the escape.

~~oOo~~

Mulciber was breathing deeply, steadily, focusing on his mental defenses. Being a Dark Arts practitioner, Occlumency was really the only way for him to ward off the dementors' debilitating aura. Fire could drive them away, but it did nothing to protect against their magic. Not that he had much too fear, honestly – dementors had worked with the Dark Lord in the past and Death Eaters, himself among them, had walked among them freely. Dementors were natural allies for someone like the Dark Lord. Death Eaters didn't need to fear for their souls, but a dementor can't just 'turn off' their magic. The cold and the feeling of dread still permeated every fiber of their being.

Fortunately, the most talented among them could protect themselves well enough to be able to eliminate the dementors' influence almost entirely. Personally, Mulciber didn't mind a chill – it kept him on his toes.

Next to him, Greyback seemed much more at ease. Not surprising. One of the benefits of the curse was near-complete resistance to magic that affected the mind. It was impossible for all but the most skilled wizards to successfully cast an Imperious Curse or a Memory Charm on a werewolf, which made them prized allies and terrifying enemies. Greyback took that further than almost any other werewolf by embracing his bestial side. He now retained some of the wolfish features the entire time. Those huge claws had to be damn inconvenient with tasks requiring some sleight of hand, but they surely came in handy when he wanted to rip someone's throat apart.

They watched three dementors approach the cliff slowly from the open sea, their skeletal arms hanging limply down. Once the two delegations were within twenty feet of each other, Mulciber pulled out a small stone inscribed with several runes. Such stones were used by Aurors stationed at Azkaban to communicate with dementors. While they could understand human speech easily, this little trinket interpreted and projected the dementor's words into the user's mind. Azkaban guards carried them on their persons all the time. Mulciber tapped it with his wand.

_"Pretati."_ He felt the enchantment activate as tendrils of magic extended from the stone onto his gloved hand.

"The Dark Lord sends his regards," he said. "We are here to receive your answer."

The dementor at the front floated closer and Mulciber instinctively fingered his wand. Natural allies or not, they still made him uneasy.

_We have decided,_ the dementor spoke, _to take his offer... as long as he can provide new prisoners._

Dementors were always hungry and the promise of fresh sources of memories to be consumed was the Dark Lord's side of the deal. There would be no shortage of enemies in need of an Azkaban sentence once he was in power.

"He will," Mulciber said with conviction. "The Dark Lord keeps his word."

_Then he is free to come. There will be no interference from us._

"No interference is good, but we talked about something more," Mulciber said. "We need you to clear out of the fortress before the attack and stay away until the battle is done. Our forces will need to focus on the enemy, not defending against your magic."

_So we agreed, and so it will be._

"From now on, keep one of you stationed here at all times," Mulciber instructed. "I will come personally on night of the attack to give the signal. We're not sure when it will happen, but it should be soon."

The dementor gave no verbal answer, but nodded clearly. Two of them then turned and left while one remained, its tattered cloak billowing in the harsh wind. Mulciber tapped the stone again.

_"Finite."_

Greyback bared his canines in a deep growl.

"Dementors," he spat, once they were far away enough. "They have their uses, but I don't like them."

"Nobody does," Mulciber quipped. "But we need them. They could pose a serious problem if they decided to side with the Ministry. As you might recall, the Patronus Charm is a rare skill among us."

The werewolf grunted in what Mulciber assumed was agreement.

"Are your men ready?" he asked. "The order can come any day now. It could come the moment we get back, for all we know."

"They're ready. Worry about your own."

"Believe me, I do. Not having to keep appearances in the society, I've been assigned to field work – which I prefer – but I can't for the life of me imagine why I was told to overlook the new recruits as well. I'm no teacher. Best I can do is pitch them against superior opponents and hope they learn something. I've no time to teach them."

"Yeah? How's that going?"

"They're useless," Mulciber said with a hint of irritation. "The curriculum at Hogwarts has been a joke ever since the Dark Lord cursed the Defense position and most people, especially in the younger generation, have no inclinations to self-study. They leave Hogwarts with only the most basic knowledge of more refined magic and zero dueling skill. I'll admit that I'm hardly an objective observer, but I can't see more than a few ever matching those of us in the Inner Circle."

"What about Malfoy's son? He any good?"

"He's not hopeless," Mulciber admitted, "but it'll be some time before he gets anywhere near Lucius' level at his age. He might never surpass his father. Lucius is a rare talent. Then again, Lucius has always pushed himself. Some of the old guard truly frighten me."

"Is that right?" Greyback gave a throaty chuckle. "What's wrong with them, now?"

"They've become complacent," Mulciber explained. "Most haven't seen combat in over a decade and even those who dueled on occasion have lost their edge. It'll be months before they regain it and I'm not sure they have that long to prepare. Fortunately, enough have kept busy to keep everything from falling apart until the others get back in shape."

"And you say you're better than them?" Greyback challenged. "You haven't been sitting on your ass?"

"Fenrir, you old dog, I thought you knew me better than that. I wasn't raised in a pureblood home with traditions, even though I should have been" Mulciber said. "My mother just happened to not be a mudblood and that's probably why my father even noticed her. He refused to have anything to do with her or me after I was born. Neither of us had it easy."

Mulciber knew Greyback sympathized with him, as much as the werewolf was capable of empathy. Having been abandoned by his parents after being bitten, he held a resentment toward people who didn't take care of their children. His pack consisted of dropouts and orphans. He cared about their wellbeing, in a twisted sort of way.

"So, after the Dark Lord vanished, I left the country. I had no money to pay off the Ministry and be able to claim I had been bewitched. I did some odd jobs. Bounty hunting, mostly."

"I never heard that," Greyback commented. "About your father. Almost everyone assumed you were of Malfoy's sort."

"You're thinking about my half-brother. I understand your confusion, seeing as he's dead."

"Ah. How'd that happen?"

Mulciber grinned darkly. "Slowly and painfully."

~~oOo~~

The second visit he received in the dark dungeon wasn't from Voldemort, but from that rat, Peter.

"You shall dine with the Dark Lord tonight," Wormtail informed him disdainfully. Sirius could have sworn he heard a pang of jealousy in his pathetic, squeaky voice.

"He's inviting me to dinner?" Sirius asked. "I'm flattered, really… I mean, I'm sure that underneath that pallor and striking lack of a nose he's a perfectly nice bloke, but I don't swing that way. And we've only just met."

Wormtail glowered at him. "In an hour, you will be escorted to a bathroom, where you will wash."

Sirius laughed. "It's getting interesting. Do continue."

"There will be robes waiting for you. Then you shall join the Dark Lord in the dining room."

"There's a dining room in Voldemort's secret lair?" Sirius asked, astonished. "Well, I never."

But Peter had already left.

Within an hour, he came back, with additional escort in the form of two hooded Death Eaters.

"Get up," Wormtail ordered. "Move away from the bars and face the wall. Put your hands above your head where I can see them."

Having stashed the locket in its improvised hiding spot earlier, Sirius obeyed silently. He really wasn't able to do anything else until he could get his hands on a wand, preferably his own.

One of the Death Eaters kept a wand pointed at him while the other shackled his hands behind his back with magic-inhibiting cuffs. Sirius tensed and drew in a deep, shuddering breath, as the enchantments kicked in.

_Clever bastards._

They tied a black cloth around his eyes and led him through the building, leaving it to himself to watch out for stairs. He swore every time he tripped.

Eventually, they arrived wherever it was they were going. It turned out to be a spacious room, stripped of furniture and decorations. Just bare walls and a wood-paneled floor. There were two huge windows and two doors – one obviously leading out into the hallway and the other, Sirius concluded, to the bathroom.

Wormtail chucked a bundle of clothing and a pair of shoes at him pointed at the door and snarled, "You have fifteen minutes."

Sirius raised a challenging eyebrow. "And what happens after fifteen minutes?"

"I will drag you out of there myself."

Sirius hurried inside – he had no intention of letting Peter seeing him in the nude. Then again, what guarantee was there that the rat wouldn't barge in after thirteen and a half minutes? Or eleven?

He showered quickly, bemoaning the lack of windows and any useful objects he could have nicked from the bathroom. Voldemort had covered all bases.

Fortunately, Peter kept his promise of fifteen minutes and Sirius emerged from the bathroom moments before the time was up.

"I must say, Peter," he said appreciatively, "those charmed towels were a really nice touch."

"Blindfold," was his only response, and directed at one of the other Death Eaters.

Sirius made it a point to sigh overtly. "Is this really necessary?"

"Shut up," Peter snapped.

Shortly, they had arrived at their destination and the blindfold was taken away again. Sirius smoothed out the moderately-presentable robe – it wasn't too bad, but he preferred his own.

Wormtail and his friends vacated the room, locking the door behind them and then Voldemort strode in.

"Master Black," he greeted in a perfectly polite manner.

"You really don't need to call me that, you know," Sirius told him. "'Master' – it doesn't suit me. Just Sirius is fine."

One corner of Voldemort's lipless mouth twitched and he gestured for him to sit. They sat at the opposing ends of a long table that could sit twenty people with ease. Through enormous western windows, the last glimpse of a sunset could be seen.

Sirius sat down and so did Voldemort. The Dark Lord clapped his hands and an array of dishes appeared in front of each of them.

"You actually eat human food?" Sirius asked with genuine interest.

Voldemort smiled above a glass of wine. "Why wouldn't I? I am human."

Sirius' eyebrows joined in a deep frown. "I had thought… you know, that maybe you survived on the blood of virgins, or something like that. I haven't met many Dark Lords who looked like you."

"And how many have you met… Sirius?"

"Just you," he admitted. "But Dumbledore once told me that despite being a complete rotten bastard, Grindelwald looked, well, normal. He looked his age. Sixty-something."

"Grindelwald." Voldemort repeated the name slowly. "Yes, he was cruel. But he wasn't mad, like so many claim – or a monster."

"What was he then?"

The Dark Lord's eyes glinted a dangerous red. "Defeated."

Sirius clinked the fork against his plate. "You have a point. History is written by the victors. If that duel fifty years ago had gone the other way, we would all be indoctrinated little Nazis, toiling for the greater good of humankind and Dumbledore would be the big bad wizard."

A brief silence ensued. "How do you find dinner, Sirius?" Voldemort asked, as if they were two best friends.

"Not bad," Sirius said truthfully. "I've had better, but I guess I can't fault you for not hiring the best chef in the British Isles."

"Those are… interesting spells you're whispering."

Sirius took a sip of wine. "Poison detection. Forgive me if I don't take your hospitality for granted. Force of habit."

"I am not offended," Voldemort said calmly.

"Oh, good."

"I was merely curious. It is good to see that you haven't forgotten who you are, despite your… poor choice of acquaintances."

"I think it's a sad reality where I have to check food for poison just to make sure I will be able to get up from the table after the meal," Sirius retorted.

"You're a pureblood wizard, Black," Voldemort said. "Even something as trivial as the lessons pureblood children receive in their youth is a part of your heritage. Do you not take pride in it?"

"I won't deny that money and social standing are good things to have... Well, scratch the 'social standing' part for the moment," Sirius said thoughtfully. "But I'd be just as happy as a rich and handsome muggleborn. Maybe happier."

"Is that so?"

"My mother hated me," Sirius said with an exaggerated shrug. "That made for a crappy childhood. And then there were twelve years in bloody Azkaban."

"You are," Voldemort insisted, "a scion of an old, respected family-"

"Old, certainly. And in some circles, respected," Sirius interrupted him. "That's more than you can say, isn't it?"

A shade of anger crossed Voldemort's face – and then it was gone, his cool restraint back in place. "Whatever do you mean by that, Master Black?"

"Again with the 'Master' business," Sirius sighed. "I told you-"

"_I asked,_" Voldemort said through gritted teeth, "what you meant by your comment."

"You've always advertised the fact that you were the Heir of Slytherin," Sirius said matter-of-factly. "Any pureblood knows how the line of Salazar Slytherin progressed through the ages. The latest mention was of the remnants of the Gaunt family. I know for a fact," Sirius raised a finger, "that your Death Eaters pretty much take you for the son of Merope and Morfin Gaunt. The dates click and the Gaunts had been marrying their own siblings for several generations before you – to keep the blood pure. That's why some purebloods were reluctant to join you the first time. Every old family did some marriages between cousins at one point or another, but incest is the one line that the saner of us never crossed."

Sirius had to admire Voldemort's self-control. He was openly baiting him, after all. It wasn't perhaps the smartest thing to do, but he really couldn't help himself.

"So," Voldemort said smoothly, "you claim that my followers think me an inbred whelp."

Sirius put down the fork and knife and leaned back. "That's the gist of it, yeah."

"I see," the Dark Lord hissed, "that I have taken the wrong approach with you, Black."

Sirius cringed.

_Ah, damn._

~~oOo~~

"Everything is settled, then."

"Indeed." Dolores Umbridge rose from her seat. "Lucius Malfoy delivered on his promise. The Board of Governors approved my appointment as the Defense instructor next semester."

"You know how important this is, Dolores," Fudge said. "We need to contain the situation. It is imperative that I know what goes on in Hogwarts. The warlocks are beginning to question some of my policies - we can't afford to be uninformed any longer."

"Absolutely, Minister." She collected the paperwork and left, passing Scrimgeour in the door. He cast a disgusted look at the Senior Undersecretary. His dislike for her was widely known; many mid- to high-ranking employees shared this opinion and yet Minister Fudge refused to fire or even demote her.

"I know what you're thinking, Rufus," Fudge said loudly when the door closed behind his Undersecretary. "You've made your opinion known many times in the past."

"And I stand by it," Scrimgeour retorted. "Honestly, Cornelius, I cannot comprehend why you keep her around. That woman is despicable and a menace. She does more harm than good."

"She possesses certain skills that I value very much," the Minister replied. "And many people agree with me."

"Fine," Scrimgeour relented. "Any time spent talking about Dolores Umbridge is time wasted anyway. I have some reports I think you should take a look at."

Fudge groaned with frustration. "As if didn't have enough problems already..."

"There's no real problem – yet," Scrimgeour said. "But there are reasons for concern."

"Well?"

"Greyback."

The Minister's eyes narrowed as he accepted a folder from Scrimgeour. "Is this about the Registration Act amendment?" he asked.

"Possibly. We've observed increased werewolf activity all over the country and within communities abroad, especially in Ireland and France. Even the foreign werewolves are protesting. They fear this legislation might push other European governments into passing similar laws."

"Do you think I should veto it?" Fudge asked seriously. "We can't afford a werewolf revolt in the current state of affairs."

"Your Undersecretary spearheaded the Registration Act four years ago and the amendment was her idea as well," Scrimgeour said flatly. "I think you already know my opinion."

Fudge sighed heavily. Rufus had been one of the staunchest opponents of the original law four years ago. While he agreed that some form of government-sanctioned control was necessary, he protested categorizing werewolves as 'Dark creatures'.

"They're people," he argued then. "This law will come back to haunt you someday, I'm telling you."

Fudge supported the bill more as a favor to Dolores, who had helped with his campaign, than anything else. He thought at the time that some of the proposed regulations were a bit constrictive, but it wouldn't matter in the greater scope of things. Werewolves were such a small portion of the population...

It seemed he had underestimated them.

"Alright," he said at last. "Yes, I agree that the amendment is quite... extreme. But I'll have to talk to Dolores first. I can't just go behind her back like that."

"Do what you think is best, Cornelius," Scrimgeour said. "Part of my job is to advise you and you've just been advised."

"I did actually make some inquires, you know," Fudge said. "I even wrote Amelia, but she returned my letter unopened."

"Hardly surprising. That farce of a trial was a mistake and you know it."

"Yes, yes, I made a mistake!" Fudge erupted. "But I can't just revoke my decision. I start doing that, I might as well hand over the Ministry to Dumbledore!"

"I'm not sure what I've done to deserve you taking your frustration out on me," Scrimgeour said dryly.

Fudge leaned back into his chair. "I apologize, Rufus. The last few days have been difficult. Is there anything else?"

He was handed another file. "There's unrest in Azkaban," Scrimgeour said. "Dementors seem unusually excited, almost as if they're waiting for something. They've been paying less attention to the prisoner and they, in turn, have been quite vocal about the quality of food, among other things."

"Oh, bother," Fudge muttered. "Any idea what's happening?"

"Not yet," Scrimgeour answered. "But I'm looking into it."

"Very well. Keep me informed."

"Of course." The Director collected the reports and promptly left.

Fudge pressed a button on a panel to his left. "Weasley, is there anything left on the schedule?"

His assistant's voice emerged from the speaker as clear as if he were standing right next to him. "You have the last meeting of the day, sir, with Directors Plateau and Crouch, in ten minutes. Will you be receiving them in your office?"

"Oh Merlin, no," the Minister said. "I need to get out of here. Inform them that we shall meet in the Cabinet Room. And please tell the cafeteria to send up some refreshments."

"Right away, sir."

Both men were already waiting for him when he walked in.

"Marcus," he greeted the Director of the Finance Department.

"Minister."

Marcus Plateau was promoted to his current position by Fudge himself, upon his victory in the last election. Despite being in charge of one of the more influential Departments, Marcus was better known for being Keira Zabini's eighth husband. Fans of conspiracy theories speculated that the formidable wizard of French descent had found a way to reign in 'the black widow'. Fudge dismissed any such rumors. Not because he had evidence to disprove the claims against Mrs. Zabini (who famously kept her maiden name) but because he wasn't sure he wanted to know the truth.

Crouch didn't speak, merely inclined his head. The Chief of Diplomacy returned to work shortly after the ordeal culminating in his near murder at the hands of his own disgraced son, who had somehow escaped Azkaban. In hindsight, Fudge regretted his decision to have the man Kissed on the spot - a dead man couldn't testify and Bartemius had been tight-lipped about the whole affair, focusing on work instead. Even with his reputation as unsteady as it was, he remained surprisingly effective as Director of the Department of International Cooperation.

"Barty," Cornelius said and nodded. "You look tired." His observation was left without comment. "What's the news, Marcus?"

Plateau cleared his throat. "Technically, Cresswell should be here as well, since this concerns the goblins to an extent, but he's been working himself crazy and I don't blame him for taking the day off."

"Goblins?" Fudge almost dropped he cup of tea he was pouring himself. "If there's an issue with them, it would've become apparent some time ago. Why wasn't I informed earlier?"

"Because it didn't look important," Marcus replied. "However, things have escalated in the last few days. They are protesting certain financial operations being conducted. Some of the account holders have been making large withdrawals for no apparent reason."

"Bah. What seems to be the problem?" Fudge asked. "The goblins already hold our gold, why should it concern them why people make withdrawals?"

"It doesn't when everything is in order. They like doing things by the book," Plateau said. "But my Department has noticed an interesting pattern." He flipped open a folder in front of him and slid it across the table. "Some of the richest of Gringotts' clients have been moving large sums of money out of their flag accounts and altogether closing smaller ones. Dozens of vaults were emptied just last month."

"And this should concern us why?" Fudge wasn't convinced.

"Bartemius? You want a crack at it?"

Crouch straightened in his seat. "I managed to find out that some of that money is being moved abroad, to foreign branches of Gringotts."

"Gringotts is an international institution," Cornelius stated the obvious. "Private citizens have a right to relocate their assets, don't they?"

"Of course," Marcus replied. "But there is no reason to do it in such a roundabout way."

"Our ambassador to France has been alerted to the fact that some people withdrew money only to move it to the Parisian branch," Crouch said.

"Gentlemen, can you please get to the point?" The Minister was quickly getting irritated.

"The same thing could have been done via Gringotts itself," Marcus said. "The goblins can move money between different national branches. The fee for the service is negligible and it's much faster than doing the same thing without their assistance."

"The question is, why go to such lengths?" Crouch put in.

"And the answer – because this kind of maneuver makes the money largely untraceable. Gringotts is valued for secrecy and strict upkeep of the client privilege. We only know about the money that went across the Channel thanks to anonymous tips."

"Again – why should all of that interest us?" Fudge asked. "Forgive my ignorance if I'm not seeing something obvious, but-"

"You're forgiven, Minister," Marcus interrupted. "But it's troubling that you were ignorant of all this, considering that it started with Lucius Malfoy with whom you enjoy a close relationship."

Fudge leaned forward. Now this sounded like something he should be interested in. "Lucius has been moving his money? Why?"

"That is what we're trying to find out. Sadly, our efforts have been in vain. The money we tracked thanks to the anonymous informant belongs to Vilhelm Nott. We have no idea what happened to whatever assets Malfoy chose to liberate from the London branch. We suspect it's in Paris, but we cannot be sure unless we have the French Ministry's cooperation."

"Well, then get it!" Fudge demanded.

"We've tried," Crouch said, "but we've been rebuffed. As you're aware, Etienne Delacour's daughter was the Beauxbatons champion in the Tournament. He was unimpressed with the lack of security."

"Not to mention the still unexplained death of a student," Marcus added. "Made even more disturbing by the fact that his body showed signs consistent with exposure to the Killing Curse."

"Who else has been making withdrawals?"

"Parkinson, Avery, Macnair... All prominent purebloods with considerable fortunes."

"And coincidentally, all formerly accused of being Death Eaters and then exonerated," Crouch chimed in.

"It is an intriguing parallel to very similar happenings from almost twenty years ago," Marcus said. "Only back then, there were a lot more names. Most of those individuals are either dead or in Azkaban. The amount of money is comparable – just controlled by fewer people. To sum up, we are observing activities almost identical to those that preceded the start of the last war. And we can't help but wonder at the possible connection between that and what the Headmaster of Hogwarts has been saying recently."

Crouch then put a final nail to the coffin. "International media coverage of the Tournament hasn't presented us in favorable light. ICW is at a loss for an explanation as to why Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter are being called liars by domestic papers, when only weeks ago they enjoyed a much more positive kind of publicity."

"So, Minister." Plateau leveled a drilling gaze at Fudge. "This is why we should be concerned."

~~oOo~~

Voldemort's servant elf went all out tonight. Sirius wracked his brain for any holiday taking place on the fifth of August, but came up with nothing, at least nothing he thought Voldemort would celebrate. And certainly not with a prisoner.

The last few days had been the most bizarre of Sirius' life. After their first shared meal, he expected the Dark Lord to go berserk and start tossing curses around, not keep inviting him to dinner on subsequent days. Not only that – he was moved from the dungeons to a comfy room, though he was still under guard. There had been no chance for an escape yet. His biggest enemy here was boredom. He was forced to spend entire days in his room, with silent Death Eaters for company. He had tried to engage them in conversation, proposed a game of chess and even insulted them, but to no avail. If Voldemort was trying to bore him to death, Sirius hated to admit that it was working. Oddly enough, he would've preferred to remain in the dungeons. Unless Voldemort had found it, the locket was still there and there was a tiniest bit of magic left in it. He doubted he'd have an opportunity to get it back.

As usual, he was escorted to dinner by Peter and his two masked guards. Against his better judgment, he was looking forward to meeting Voldemort again. There was something enthralling in the way he could manipulate words to present his plans for eradicating muggles and forging an empire on a foundation of their skulls as if his was the only way to save wizards from the danger muggles posed. It was easy to forget that he didn't consider muggles a part of humanity and, unless you were on your guard, even start agreeing with the snake. The way he talked about restoring pride to wizardkind, elevating pure blood back to its proper place... Really, if it weren't for his face, Voldemort would be quite charming.

Tonight the Dark Lord was dressed in black robes with green lining. He made a welcoming gesture when Sirius entered, inviting him to sit down.

"Good afternoon, Lord Voldemort," said Sirius jovially. This was all so strange he'd stopped trying to act the part of a defiant prisoner. He was fairly certain this was just a silence before a storm and figured he might as well enjoy the silence while it lasted.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Black," the Dark Lord replied. "I trust your day hasn't been to unpleasant?"

"No more boring than the last three," Sirius said. He had no idea what kind of mind game Voldemort was playing with him, but he saw no harm in exchanging pleasantries. "Are you having more guests over tonight?" he asked, pointing at empty chairs at the sides of the long table. There had never been anyone else present before.

"Yes," Voldemort said. "As you can imagine, their duties have taken up most of their time recently, but they managed to find time for a small gathering."

"May I ask who's coming?"

"A few old friends. I believe you're acquainted."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, sipping wine, until the door opened and a small group of smartly dressed wizards walked in, chief among them Lucius Malfoy. Several 'my lord's' were uttered and the Death Eaters sat down, casting curious glances at Sirius.

"I believe no introductions are necessary," Voldemort said. "I imagine you attented Hogwarts at the same time."

"Yes, my lord," Lucius said. "Someone like Sirius is not easily forgotten."

Sirius recognized all of them. Apart from Malfoy, there were Yaxley, Parkinson and Nott. If memory served, all four had been members of Voldemort's Inner Circle during the first war and all four were pardoned after pleading the Imperius defense. Sirius wondered how Voldemort greeted them just after his return. He imagined a Cruciatus or a dozen might have been involved. Those whom Voldemort would probably welcome with open arms currently resided in Azkaban.

"As you can imagine, Mr. Black, there should be more of us here," Voldemort said. "I intend to correct that very soon."

Sirius' heart skipped a beat. Unless he was horribly mistaken, and it was a possibility, Voldemort had just told him he was planning to attack Azkaban. And that meant he was never getting out of here if Voldemort had his way. Why else would he say something like that in his presence?

"Before we eat... Lucius, I believe you have something for me?"

Malfoy nodded, produced an envelope from his robes and handed it to Voldemort. The Dark Lord opened the letter and read unhurriedly. Whatever the message was, he gave nothing away. Not even a twitch of his lips nor a flutter of the eyelid.

Once done, he returned the letter to Lucius and asked, "This came to Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes, my lord. I believe the messenger was one of Hogwarts' school owls."

"Very well." Voldemort took another sip of the wine. "Reply when you return home. Write him that I agree."

Sirius frowned. Voldemort was agreeing to something? Wasn't it usually other people who had to agree with him? This had to be important. If only he could find out what it was...

Voldemort clapped his hands and one by one, platters of food appeared.

The atmosphere was on the stiff side, completely different from when Sirius and Voldemort ate alone. He suspected it was because Death Eaters didn't want to appear relaxed with a prisoner in the room. It made him wonder how those get-togethers looked when only Voldemort's in-crowd was present. Was there fear of their master hanging in the air? Or maybe they got drunk and told jokes? Voldemort frustratingly shattered all stereotypes Sirius attributed to Dark Lords. This Voldemort didn't seem like someone who would murder a child in cold blood. The two images refused to blend together in Sirius' mind.

Dinner ended soon enough. No one had spoken a single word since Voldemort gave Lucius his instructions. All of a sudden Sirius wanted to go back to his room. At least there the Death Eaters were masked. This depersonalization took the away embarrassment when he was talking to himself.

Lucius and his friends left and Sirius was again alone with Voldemort.

"You seemed uncomfortable today," the Dark Lord said. "Did my Death Eaters intimidate you?"

Sirius sighed in relief. There it was: 'my Death Eaters'. The world hadn't turned entirely back to front yet.

_Thank Merlin for small graces._

"Intimidate? Me? Bah. You must have me confused with Lucius."

"I don't know him to be easily intimidated, Mr. Black. In fact, it was my impression that many people from all walks of live are terrified of him."

"Really? That's a side of Lucy I have never seen. But then again, I did spend twelve years in Azkaban. I might be a little out of touch. "

Voldemort's hairless eyebrows rose. "Lucy?"

"A cute little nickname. He hates it. Say... would you mind explaining something for me?"

"Not at all."

"I can't think of a reason why you'd be so... courteous with me. Because, let me tell you, if you were hoping I'd come over to your side, I'm afraid I must disappoint you."

"If you think I was trying to manipulate you, you're sorely mistaken. Alas, our time together, however illuminating, has come to an end."

Sirius fought to keep the smile on his face even as a sudden chill travelled up his spine. He'd played it casually, but there hadn't been any genuine threats, until now.

"Pardon my nosiness, but what do you mean by that?"

Voldemort smiled dangerously and suddenly there was a wand in his hand and it was pointing at Sirius.

"Whatever happens next, Mr. Black, rest assured that I shall miss your company."


	8. Games, Part 3

**AN:** End of chapter 'll be some time (about a month if RL sticks to the schedule) before the next update, so until then enjoy the longest chapter yet.

**CHAPTER TWO: Games**

**Part 3**

At first, Harry was too stunned to react. What Dumbledore had just said was so much in contradiction to his, he thought, brilliant move that he couldn't imagine what must have happened for Wormtail to come out victorious against _anyone._ The rat had seemed so weak, so pathetic in the Shrieking Shack...

"How did this happen?" he asked.

"Sirius was careless," Dumbledore said. "Peter managed to surprise him."

"But Sirius didn't go alone, did he? You sent Snape away when I told you about Pettigrew."

"Professor Snape was unable to interfere in time. We only know because Voldemort himself informed his Death Eaters of Sirius' capture during a meeting he called immediately after."

"We can't leave him there," Harry said.

"I agree. Sirius has information that Voldemort will find valuable, should Sirius be unable to resist him."

"It's not just about information-" Harry began, but was cut off.

"Of course it isn't," the Headmaster continued. "Abandoning friends to the enemy is a tactic acceptable by Death Eaters' standards, but not mine."

"We don't know where Voldemort is hiding," Harry muttered. "That, and the fact that we're talking about Voldemort here makes a daring rescue mission rather impossible."

"My thoughts exactly," the Headmaster agreed. "I'm afraid the only way is to trade."

Harry's head snapped in Dumbledore's direction. "Trade... _with what?"_

"Something Voldemort considers more important than a valuable hostage."

"Okay," Harry said, "but do we have something that Voldemort will want more that we can afford to lose ourselves?"

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "Of course. The prophecy."

Harry blinked, his mouth agape.

"I imagine this is quite shocking."

"Damn right it is," Harry blurted out. "Didn't you... I'm not even- well, would you kindly explain?"

Dumbledore corrected his glasses. "Thanks to Professor Snape's efforts, we know that Voldemort has abstained from any major undertakings because he's focusing on acquiring the prophecy. He will likely avoid another confrontation with you until he knows its full wording."

"So if we give it to him, things will escalate. Quickly."

"Most probably."

"And it's possible that Voldemort will actively seek me out."

"I'm afraid so."

"Basically," Harry summed up, "we can leave Sirius to die and buy more time, or we start fighting the war that we're unprepared for right away."

"Quite right."

Harry looked up at the elder wizard. "I think the choice is obvious."

"As do I," the Headmaster replied. "Lemon drop?"

~~oOo~~

His return to Grimmauld Place was met with mixed reactions. Hermione, Lupin and Tonks were all relieved to see him. Ron held back, as did most of the Weasleys, though they warmed up to him once Dumbledore assured everyone that another possession wouldn't be happening. None of this surprised him. One person, however, did.

Ginny didn't seem resentful, even though she'd had her throat cut by his hands a day ago. She didn't share Hermione's enthusiasm – her brief hug didn't threaten to crush his ribs – but gave the impression of being glad he was back. She smiled gently, which must have went unnoticed by the others, and disappeared into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley ushered everyone else in as well, announcing that late dinner was to be served.

The meal was a strange affair. Lupin and Tonks were quiet and talked in hushed tones, worried over Sirius' capture. Mrs. Weasley distracted herself from the troubles by constantly asking if anyone would like more potatoes. Harry sat between Tonks and Hermione, observing everyone covertly. Once, he and Ginny looked up at the same time. She gave him another sly smile instead of blushing like she did last time, leaving him to wonder.

He could tell all of them carefully avoided hot topics. He saw no reason to bring them up himself. With any luck, Sirius would be back soon. Needless to say, Dumbledore had already thought of a rough plan. Harry had never been the best in creating elaborate schemes. His plans, if there even were any, tended to be made up as he went along and usually in true Gryffindor style of charging forward and blundering one's way through obstacles with brute force.

When Dumbledore laid out his idea, Harry wanted to retrieve the prophecy right away.

"I admire your dedication," the Headmaster said, "but I don't think going now would be a good idea."

"Why not?" Harry demanded. "Shouldn't we want to get Sirius out as soon as possible?"

"I highly doubt Sirius is danger," Dumbledore replied. Harry looked at him incredulously. "Allow me to finish, Harry. I do not believe Sirius in danger _right now._ As I said, he's not just a prisoner to Voldemort – he's a valuable asset, and that grants him a modicum of protection. Besides, it has been less than an hour since his capture."

He had to admit that the Headmaster's cold logic made sense. The other things he'd laid out Harry couldn't argue against either.

He'd agreed that he needed some rest. He had an important meeting tomorrow.

~~oOo~~

Lucius sighed internally. Fooling Fudge wasn't by any stretch difficult, but it was tiring. He offered a well-rehearsed excuse for moving his money. It was all meaningless, really, just political doublespeak. It would satisfy the Minister, but Plateau and Crouch wouldn't be so easily misled. He would need to come up with something more legitimate-sounding before he was questioned about it again.

The Dark Lord of course understood the consequences of such operations. They were bound to draw the Ministry's attention - perhaps he even wanted it that way. Whatever his reasons, he wasn't sharing them and, truth be told, Lucius was getting mildly irritated by all the secrecy. No Death Eater dared say it, but they were all thinking it – the Dark Lord's demands to 'contribute' private fortunes didn't sit well with them. Lucius only hoped that the latest transfer would suffice for a few months at least – for he had no doubts the Dark Lord would demand more eventually.

So very Slytherin of him, to pin the costs of war on the rich.

He was heading towards the nearest fireplace in the atrium when someone placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Malfoy, I need you to come with me."

He spun around, a sharp remark almost rolling off his tongue...

"I insist," the young woman said.

He recognized her immediately. Nymphadora Tonks, Narcissa's niece. Recent graduate of the Auror Academy... and a member of Dumbledore's Order.

"Auror Tonks," he drawled. "I'm afraid I am quite busy at the moment. If you'd care to send an owl, we can arrange a meeting."

"It can't wait," she said. "Head Auror is expecting you."

Lucius kept a straight face while inside, all kinds of alarms went off. Shacklebolt was suspected to belong to the Order as well. One of Dumbledore's people, he could write off as a coincidence, but two?

He could think of only one reason for such direct contact. This had to be about Black.

The Dark Lord would be extremely displeased if he ignored something that bore all the marks of importance.

"Head Auror?" Lucius repeated slowly. "Well, I would hate to keep him waiting."

The young woman lead him to the elevators and they rode down to the second level. Lucius followed in silence as his guide suddenly took an unexpected turn into the Auror Archives. He noticed the distinct lack of the usual sentries just before an impact against his head turned everything black.

~~oOo~~

A sudden feeling of warmth woke him up – a tell-tale sign of the Reviving Spell. But he hadn't felt any magic when he was knocked unconscious. Had the enchantments on the Family Ring failed?

Only then he noticed a pair of shoes in his field of vision. He looked up, slowly, and found himself staring into the eyes of the last person he expected to see.

"Good afternoon, Lucius," Harry Potter said, holding his wand in a delicate grasp. "You don't mind if I call you Lucius, do you? I feel that after our last meeting formalities are unnecessary."

Lucius stood up with as much dignity as he could muster, noticing the young Auror in an opposite corner of the room. She was observing him intently, her wand tracing his movements.

"Not at all, Potter," he spat out. He couldn't find it in himself to call the brat by his first name, even to insult him.

"You'll have to forgive me this little act of kidnapping," Potter continued. "Precautions had to be taken. I'm sure you'll understand."

"I suppose I can return the courtesy next time."

Potter grinned. His eyes shone with unspoken malice. It was a strangely disturbing sight. All of a sudden, Draco's letter from June made much more sense.

"I'm sure you'll try," he said. "Now, to business. You're a clever man, Lucius. You must know what this is about."

Lucius considered his next words carefully. His current situation warranted caution. He was unarmed, standing between Potter and a trained Auror. The boy's casting of Fiendfyre and the newfound confidence he'd shown at the Ministry couldn't be underestimated. And Merlin knew there were probably more of Dumbledore's people nearby.

"Sirius Black," he said. "I do not presume to speak for the Dark Lord in this matter."

Potter laughed. "Oh, I wouldn't expect you to. I can't imagine Voldemort letting anyone else make decisions. I'll make it short and clear, Lucius. I'm asking you to deliver a message from me to your master."

"What message would that be?"

"I want to trade for Sirius' release. I have something very valuable to offer in return."

Suddenly, a thought struck him. Lucius sincerely hoped he was wrong.

"You don't know the Dark Lord, Potter," he said in a neutral tone. "He won't agree to trade prisoners."

Potter's lips curled into a smirk. "Oh, Lucius," he chided him. "If I wanted to trade you for Sirius, I wouldn't be asking you to deliver the message."

Lucius held back a sigh of relief. It was good news, but he was still in the enemy's hands.  
>"What are you offering, then?"<p>

Potter's next words almost broke his veneer of calm. He had to really want his godfather back.

~~oOo~~

"Waiting for something?"

Deep in thought, he didn't notice that someone had spoken until she obstructed his vision. He shook his head and looked up.

"Ginny," he said. "Either you're stalking me or you can't sleep."

She sat on the sofa and looked away, staring into the fire, like he was moments ago. "A bit of both," she admitted.

Harry's lips broke into a smile. "Should I be worried?"

This time she looked at him and again, there was no hint of the usual embarrassment in her expression. "And I thought you liked the attention."

"Sorry." He tilted his head. "Malfoy spoiled it for me. I'll try to enjoy yours more."

"So what's so fascinating about the fire?"

"I found a new way of looking at it."

"Is that a metaphor?"

He chuckled quietly. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" he asked with mock seriousness.

"Look who's talking," she retorted. "If you're going to a party, why am I not invited?"

"Do I look dressed for a party?"

"You are going _somewhere,"_ Ginny said. "And why are you answering questions with more questions?"

He leaned forward in the armchair. "Are you flirting with me?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm surprised you even know what it means."

"Why, because Ron's..."

"Clueless," Ginny supplied.

Harry nodded in agreement. "And Hermione's a bit of a prude."

"You don't know that," she chastised him. "Assuming things about your friend... Tsk, tsk... You know what they say. It's always the quiet ones."

"I'd rather get back to talking about you."

Ginne laughed. "Are you flirting with me?"

He winked at her playfully, but their banter was cut short when flames in the hearth shot higher, turning green and next they knew Albus Dumbledore was standing in the room.

"Mr. Potter," he said, nodding. "And Miss Weasley. Trouble sleeping?"

"Not really," she answered. "Just a restless night."

"I find them quite stimulating," the Headmaster said. "A night awake from time to time can result in wonderful discoveries."

"I discovered the Chamber of Secrets one such night," Harry joked. Immediately, he regretted it.

_Tact isn't your strong suit, is it, Potter?_

Ginny merely gave him an uncommonly piercing look and stood up to leave.

"Goodnight, Headmaster." Then she looked at him with another of those mysterious smiles on her lips. "Goodnight, Harry."

He watched her until she disappeared in the shadows, feeling strangely lightheaded.

"Harry," the Headmaster said, pulling him out of the haze. "Shall we?"

He blinked away the confusion. "Are we going by Floo?"

"Yes," the Headmaster replied. "After you."

He threw a handful of powder into the fire. "Ministry of Magic!"

He emerged in the cavernous atrium, empty, save for two patrolling Aurors. Dumbledore followed suit and they started walking briskly towards the elevators.

"I'm assuming that Fudge will know we visited the Ministry in the middle of the night?" Harry asked once they were out of earshot. "Unless we have the entire Auror Office on our side."

"Of course he will," Dumbledore said. "If he doesn't already. I hadn't made this trip a great secret."

Harry thought about it for a moment. _Why would-_

And then the pieces fell into place.

"Voldemort will find out too. We need him to know we're not bluffing," he said.

"Yes. I have no doubt that Voldemort has an agent, or agents, in the Department of Mysteries. He will know of our escapade by morning at the latest."

"I suppose there's no point in hiding it from him," Harry said, "but won't Fudge wonder?"

"We need him to do just that," Dumbledore replied. "Either he must accept the facts, or we will need a new Minister."

"Contemplating a coup, Headmaster?"

"Extraordinary times require extraordinary measures. I would sooner overthrow the government myself than allow Voldemort to do it."

"Maybe we should do it anyway," Harry said seriously. "Everyone would be better off without Fudge."

"Forgive my bluntness, Harry, but politics are more complicated than you think. In truth, Cornelius Fudge is a capable peace-time Minister."

"That's great, but we're not at peace."

"In that regard, you are right." The lift stopped, announcing their arrival with a delicate 'ping' sound. "And here we are." Dumbledore exited first. "I've never liked this part of the Ministry."

"Not the most inviting place," Harry agreed. "Even the Slytherin commons are cozier."

Dumbledore looked at him curiously.

"Oh, come on," Harry said. "Don't tell me you're surprised."

Headmaster's blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "No, I suppose I'm not."

They walked through the dark hallways lit only by scarce torches casting pale, white light. Passing the staircase leading down to the courtrooms, Harry shivered at the memory of the chair he was put in before his hearing. He almost felt bad for criminals who had to endure considerably longer trials with their magic suppressed like that.

Almost.

They reached a door at the end of a long corridor. It was a matte blue color, with gold fixtures, but no doorknob. Dumbledore approached it and the door swung open before him.

"Coming, Harry?"

He quelled the urge to take out his wand and followed the man into a huge, circular chamber. The door slammed shut behind him.

There were at least a dozen other doors in the wall, all identical. As soon as the door behind them closed, the chamber started slowly rotating. He tried to follow the door they came in through, but soon the wall was spinning so fast that it became a blur. When it finally stopped, one of the doors opened and a man, Harry deduced from the person's stature, walked in, dressed in all-black robes.

"Algernon. Good evening."

"Dumbledore," the Unspeakable said and turned to Harry. "Harry Potter. I was wondering when you'd show up."

He gestured for them to follow. They were led through a room full of clocks of every conceivable kind. The centerpiece was a large floating sphere, empty, save for a tiny egg. As they walked past it, the egg cracked and a small bird emerged, maturing in the matter of seconds. As soon as it flapped its wings once, amazingly, the process started in reverse. The hummingbird grew smaller and hid in the egg, which closed around it.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"I don't need to remind you, of course, that anything you see here is not to be talked about outside the Department," the Unspeakable warned. "I'm talking to you, Potter. Were it up to me, you'd have been blindfolded on entering. The Headmaster trusts you, so you were granted the benefit of the doubt."

"Don't worry," Harry said. "I have more important things to talk about."

Behind the next door was a place that felt eerily like the Chamber of Secrets.

"You don't keep any super-sized reptiles here, do you?"

Again ignored, he kept quiet as the three of them passed row after row of shelves filled with spheres of glass, crystal and even some that looked like carved out of diamond or sapphire. The encompassing silence was only broken by the sound of their footsteps, although Harry could almost hear the hum of magic permeating the air. The shelves themselves were so high that they disappeared into darkness despite the soft glow that seemed to be coming from the orbs. After a while he noticed the orbs only glowed when they were passing them by and their light grew weaker and eventually disappeared at about sixty feet.

"Row ninety-four," the Unspeakable announced, stopping abruptly. He extended his hand. "Your prophecy, Mr. Potter."

One of the orbs lit up with brighter light for a second. Harry approached it slowly. It was the size of a closed fist, resting on a small, decorative pedestal. A plaque below it read:

S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D  
>Dark Lord<br>and (?) Harry Potter

He smirked at the inscription. "You still have doubts whom it concerns?"

"You may think yourself the Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, or whatever title you've adopted," the Unspeakable said sharply, "but when you've lived as long as I have, you'll know that nothing is ever certain."

"Some things are certain," Dumbledore said.

Harry couldn't think of anything wise to add to the exchange. He picked up the orb tenderly and handed it to Dumbledore.

"Well," the Headmaster said, "as uneventful as this trip was, I think we can agree it's for the better." He hid the orb somewhere in his robe. "Algernon?"

The Unspeakable handed him a small piece of metal, resembling a coin covered with tiny runes. "I'll expect it back tomorrow."

"Of course. Good night, Algernon. Harry?" Dumbledore turned to him. "Take my arm."

Guessing what was coming next, he braced himself for the unpleasant feeling of apparition. As soon as his fingers closed around Dumbledore's forearm, ground was swept from under his feet and a blink of an eye later they were once again standing in the backyard of Grimmauld Place.

"We need to stop coming in through the back door," Harry said. "People will start talking."

"And we wouldn't Miss Weasley to get jealous, would we?" the Headmaster joked.

"Ginny and I are just friends, Professor," he answered quickly.

"My apologies, then. Good night to you, Harry. And good luck tomorrow."

He nodded. "I will inform you as soon as I'm done. Professor..."

"Yes?"

"What's that?" he asked.

Dumbledore raised the runic coin higher. "A small trinket Algernon asked me to test, though I'm sure in his eyes it was just a formality. As you probably know, the Ministry is protected by anti-transport wards almost as strong as those around Hogwarts. This allows one to bypass those wards."

"Sound simple... and yet something tells me it's much more complicated than I can imagine."

"Considerably," Dumbledore agreed.

Harry wasn't sure if they were still talking about the Unspeakable's coin.

~~oOo~~

She told herself she was not stalking him. He was her best friend who had gone through the worst experience yet just weeks ago and now his godfather had been captured, the closest person Harry had to a parent.

She wasn't stalking. She was... observing. Like any concerned friend would.

But even those rational arguments did little to help her get rid of the shameful feeling. Here she was, watching Harry with more attention than ever and yet she was apprehensive to come near him.

Why was she... _afraid_ of Harry, who was one of the most compassionate, caring people she knew? He had never hurt anyone on purpose... not without a good reason. But now her instincts were telling her to stay away. It was like he was cocooned in some invisible aura, repelling her. She wasn't the only one who had been avoiding confrontations with Harry in the short time since he'd returned with Professor Dumbledore. Ron spent the entire previous day sulking around, trying to talk anyone who would listen to him into a game of chess. Mrs. Weasley busied herself in the kitchen, as usual.

Other members of the Order didn't seem to be actively avoiding Harry and they came and went, but no one sought him out either. Well, apart from Tonks. She and Ginny, of all people, had no problem invading Harry's personal space. More interestingly, Harry didn't seem to mind. He shared an easy camaraderie with Tonks that resembled his relationship with Sirius, probably because Tonks and Sirius were so alike.

Ginny, on the other hand, made no sense.

Everyone seemed oblivious to the abrupt change in her behavior, or they were simply ignoring it. Perhaps they attributed it to the attack. Hermione couldn't help but notice that the changes in Ginny seemed to be following a similar pattern to whatever was happening with Harry.

During her last conversation with Ginny, Hermione noticed her reading a book which, judging by the title, could be a romance novel, but it was obviously something more sinister than that. Yesterday, she saw Harry with the same book –_Wiles of Shadow_. That had been too much.

In a moment of panic, she almost wrote to Professor Dumbledore. Just what was going on here? How could everyone be so _blind?_

At the moment, she was curled up in an armchair in the living room with an advanced Transfiguration text on her lap while Harry had commandeered a table in the corner, now littered with several tomes on Wizarding Britain's history, including Bathilda Bagshot's 'History of Magic'. Naturally, it raised her suspicions – Harry tended to sleep through History class at Hogwarts, relying on her notes to pass exams. The only reason she could think of for this sudden interest in the subject was the Ministry. There were bound to be sections about the government in those books and he mentioned his correspondence with Sirius in the outburst she witnessed on his first day in Grimmauld Place.

Secretly resenting herself for feeling insecure being alone in the room with Harry, Hermione barely kept herself from leaving when Ginny walked in and sat on the table, leaning over the book Harry was skimming.

"Are you sure you're not turning into a bookworm, Harry?" Ginny asked playfully. While it was clearly meant as a joke, Hermione felt offended all the same.

"Just some light reading," he said, drawing a laugh from Ginny. Hermione frowned at the volume in her lap. She remembered both Harry and Ron mocking her in their first year when she said something similar.

_It's time to admit it,_ she thought darkly. _You're jealous. Of Ginny._

The younger girl seemed determined to interrupt Harry's studies.

"You've been here all morning," she said. "I know you're taking OWLs this year, but there'll be plenty of time for studying at Hogwarts."

"This is really more leisure than studying. I'm finding politics more interesting than I probably should."

"You can do that later. Say, did you know that there's a terrace on the top floor?" Ginny asked sweetly.

"I thought Buckbeak lived there," Harry said.

"Oh yes. Sirius sometimes puts a Disillusionment Charm on him and lets him out at night to fly."

"What's so interesting about it?"

"This house is higher than the surrounding buildings. The terrace has a nice view of the city."

"Do you really care about the view, or are just trying to get me alone?"

"Maybe," Ginny teased. She then grabbed his hand and he followed her without protest. Hermione felt a burning feeling rise in her stomach when Ginny winked at her.

Enough was enough. She needed allies. Someone who would see that Harry and Ginny's behavior was simply _not normal_.

Surely Ron would listen.

~~oOo~~

"You seemed to be getting rather chummy with your redheaded friend," Tonks teased him as they descended the stairs.

Harry smirked at her. "I had no idea you were jealous. You should have said something."

"You are no fun anymore," Tonks said. "A month ago it was so easy to get a rise out of you."

"Where are we meeting him?" he asked, changing the topic.

"He'll come to the Shrieking Shack."

"How did you get him to agree to that?" Harry asked, surprised. "We'll be right under the Headmaster's nose."

"His idea, actually." She handed him a folded piece of parchment.

Harry quickly scanned the letter. "He'll be bringing friends, I see."

"That's why Remus is also coming with us. He's waiting in Hog's Head. We'll apparate there."

They left the house through the back door, where Harry took a deep breath, again preparing himself for the feeling of apparition. Tonks laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Ready?"

"Ye-"

The yard behind Grimmauld Place dissolved and rearranged itself into the gloomy interior of the Hog's Head.

"I hate it when you do that," Harry said, irritated. Tonks just grinned at him and walked up to the bar.

"We're here!"

Somewhere to the right a door opened and Remus walked in.

"Where's Abe?"

"Playing cards," Remus said, pointing over his shoulder. "It's Saturday."

"Right." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "Almost midday. We should get moving. I'd rather be there first."

"I agree. Harry, have you brought the Cloak?"

"Yes. You want me to put it on?"

"Better safe than sorry," Remus said. "We're meeting Death Eaters. Can't be too careful."

~~oOo~~

A trio of hooded figures appeared at the edge of the forest, where the tree line was closest to the Shrieking Shack.

"Are you sure we can't just grab Potter and kill the other two?"

"The Dark Lord's orders were precise. We are to agree upon the time and place of the exchange, nothing more," Lucius insisted.

Mulciber was unconvinced. "The Dark Lord rewards initiative, if it's successful. How hard could it be?"

"For all we know, Dumbledore's in there."

"Fine," Mulciber said. "If he is, forget I said anything. But anyone else in their Order we could take."

"You're certain you could take on Mad-Eye Moody? Or Shacklebolt?"

"You may have grown soft, but I have confidence in my abilities."

"We're not attacking them!" Lucius snarled. "I don't care if Potter brought just the mudblood and the Weasley boy. We have our orders and we will follow them _to the letter._ Is that understood?"

Mulciber sighed. "Have it your way. I still think you're making a mistake to not even consider it."

Lucius ignored Mulciber's last remark and started at a leisurely pace toward the ruinous building. If Potter was already inside, he would notice them approaching.

In truth, he agreed with Mulciber, but he didn't dare go against the Dark Lord's orders. He had made himself clear – they were not to derail the meeting, even if Potter came by himself and wandless. Lucius couldn't think of a reason why the Dark Lord would give such instructions. The meeting seemed like a perfect opportunity to remove Potter from the board, but he'd be damned before ignoring his orders and he wouldn't let Mulciber do it either.

Everything was eerily quiet. Was Potter lying in wait for them? Was this a trap? Perhaps he was hoping to acquire hostages of his own – then he could trade them for Black. Lucius had asked Mulciber and Greyback to accompany him because of their combat prowess, which would be invaluable if things went south, but he would prefer for them not to go there in the first place.

The Dark Lord would likely agree to an exchange for any one of them. While Draco could take up the mantle should the worst come to pass, he didn't have the necessary experience to manage the business assets, at least not well enough to make a significant profit. Mulciber was an experienced duelist, admittedly one of the best Lucius had seen, though he refused to acknowledge the man's skill out loud – his ego was already inflated enough. Greyback was probably the most valuable of all three of them. Through him, the Dark Lord commanded the loyalty of several dozen werewolves and that number was expected to increase.

Lucius scolded himself for delaying. There was no backing out now. Still, he checked to make sure his wand would slide out of the sleeve easily... just in case.

Flanked by his companions, Lucius banged on the door with a gloved fist once, twice, three times. The door opened unaided.

"Lucius," Harry Potter's voice came from inside. Lucius stepped over the threshold carefully, watching where he placed his feet. Mulciber and Greyback slid in behind him, surveying the room.

Potter was the only one in sight, leaning against the cracked mantlepiece in a relaxed pose, with his hands in pockets. His gaze rested on Mulciber and then Greyback for a moment. It seemed like he recognized one of them, though Lucius wasn't be sure.

"I'm afraid I am unfamiliar with your colleagues," the boy said. "Although from the... _wild_ look of the tall one, I'm guessing this must be Fenrir Greyback. My pleasure."

The werewolf bared his teeth in a dangerous grin and gave a low growl. Mulciber chuckled quietly and graced Potter with a nod.

"Allow me to introduce myself. Jervis Mulciber," he said in a pleasant tone, as if they were meeting at a party. "I knew your father, you know."

Lucius observed Potter's interaction with Mulciber intently. Now he was sure there was something here…  
>Potter kept his face blank, as if holding something back."Really?" he asked. "Were you friends before you became a Death Eater?"<br>Did these two know each each other? Why the act?

Mulciber laughed openly this time. "No. Though sometimes I wish things had turned out differently."

"Enough," Lucius snapped. "The Dark Lord is willing to compromise to make this happen."

"Lovely," Potter said. "Let's hear it, then."

"You can choose the time and place, provided that several conditions are met."

"I can?" Potter seemed genuinely surprised. "He really is prepared to compromise. What are his terms?"

"The exchange will take place tonight and the location must be remote. A hilltop or an empty field would be suitable. Somewhere you can't set traps. You will send me an owl with the hour and location."

Potter's gaze wondered up to the ceiling. Finally he looked at Lucius again. "Agreed. Anything else?"

"The Dark Lord will be present during the exchange."

Potter snorted. "I'm not stupid, Lucius. I expected nothing less. You may tell him that Professor Dumbledore will be there as well."

Lucius nodded in acknowledgement. The Dark Lord had predicted Potter would want Dumbledore by his side. "The Dark Lord will come with an escort of two. If your Headmaster is coming, you can only bring one more person."

"The terms are acceptable," Potter said. "Now, these are mine: I will bring the prophecy, Voldemort will bring Sirius. He must be able to walk. Both parties will stand at a distance. Sirius will start walking towards me and when he's walked half the way, the prophecy will be given to Voldemort."

Throughout the short conversation, Lucius noticed Greyback grow increasingly agitated. Now he felt the werewolf move as the large man leapt forward.

_"Don't!"_

Potter went for his wand, moving with uncanny speed. He still wouldn't have been able to shield himself from Greyback, but the werewolf was suddenly blasted sideways. Not surprising – Lucius suspected Potter's guards had to be hiding somewhere close.

A silvery cloak fell to the ground and werewolf Lupin – the irony - cast another spell at his creator while from another direction Black's young cousin attacked Mulciber, but Jervis was quick too and shielded himself from the curse.

All the observations hadn't taken more than a second, but Lucius still paid dearly for the delay.

_"Expelliarmus!"_

Potter's spell hit him with surprising force, sending both his wand and himself flying backwards and into Mulciber.

_"Petrificus Totalus!"_

_"Incarcerous!"_

The combined spells of Potter and the rookie Auror rendered him and Mulciber helpless. From his position, Lucius could still see Greyback, now magically held upright and pressed against the wall by Lupin.

"Stupefy!"

The stunner slammed into Greyback, knocking him out.

"Fuck," Potter swore. "Tonks, how long do we have until the Aurors show up?"

"What-"

"The Trace!" Potter interrupted angrily. "How long?"

"Oh shit, you're right... with the recent fireworks and considering it's you, they're probably watching you like hawks-"

"TONKS!"

"Sorry. A minute, maybe two."

"Tonks, get out of here," Lupin ordered. "Take these two with you, go to one of the safehouses, get whoever you can and contact Dumbledore. You're an Auror, you can't be seen here..."

"What about you?"

"I cast the first spell at him." He pointed at Greyback. "I have to stay. We can tell the Aurors we were taking a walk and were attacked."

"Are you sure? I can-"

"GO!"

~~oOo~~

"They're going to question us. We need to settle on a story."

"Let's not complicate it," Remus said. "We met to talk. If they ask what about, just say it was personal and they can't demand to know. Or mention your parents."

"It's going to be a stretch no matter what we tell them," Harry said. "Getting randomly attacked in the Shrieking Shack by Fenrir Greyback - what are the odds? And it's just too damn convenient for Fudge. First thing he'll do is accuse us of conspiring with a wanted criminal."

"We'll get through this. We just need to stay calm. I'm sure Tonks is contacting Dumbledore as we speak."

Their conversation was cut short by a loud, booming voice.

"HARRY POTTER!" someone bellowed outside, no doubt using the Sonorus Charm. "WE KNOW YOU'RE INSIDE. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP! YOU HAVE ONE MINUTE."

Harry tucked his wand into a sleeve and turned to leave. "What a great fucking day."

"Harry." Remus grabbed his arm and spun him around. "I know you're angry, but try to keep your emotions in check. Our chances will be better if you don't antagonize them."

Harry nodded and stopped in front of the door. He raised his hands above his head before kicking the door open.

"I'm coming out!" he yelled. "Please don't curse me!"

After an hour spent in the shadowy interior of the Shack, the light of day blinded him momentarily. When his eyes adjusted, he saw at least a dozen Aurors forming a half-circle in front of the building. They way they were spread out suggested there had to be more on the other side.

_They really went all out this time._

Walking down the path, he noticed a familiar face.

"Auror Grayson," he said. "When I used Fiendfyre, you only sent one squad."

"Shut up, Potter," snapped an older Auror. His uniform was slightly different from the others and he had a rectangular silver badge pinned to his chest. "This is your second offense within a week. You're under arrest."

"For casting common spells near Hogsmeade?" he asked. "Why? I'm pretty sure there aren't any muggles around. And Hogwarts students are allowed to use magic in the village."

"When the school's in session, which it isn't right now," the Auror said. "Plus, we've detected multiple apparitions in this area. You were meeting with someone."

"I was, until I was rudely interrupted," Harry spat. "Go ahead, check inside."

That was the moment Remus chose to come out.

"Don't move!" the Auror shouted. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I was hoping to help explain this misunderstanding," Remus continued, coming closer. "You should send someone inside the Shack. You'll find Fenrir Greyback there, stunned and bound."

The Auror seemed to want to pierce Remus with his stare. "And just what's Greyback doing here?"

"Why don't you ask him?" Harry asked sarcastically. "So we can all get on with our day."

"Go check," the Auror ordered, glancing at one of his subordinates. "I'm going to need you to come with us, Mr..."

"Lupin. Remus Lupin," he said. "Of course."

"Splendid. Grayson, cuff Mr. Potter here."

Harry caught sight of familiar looking handcuffs. "Oh, hell no. You're not putting those on me."

"Don't make me knock you out."

"I'm coming peacefully, Auror," Harry snapped. "Here, you can have my wand." He pulled it out of his sleeve. "I promise to be cooperative, alright?"

The Auror was silent for a moment and finally said, "Fine. You there, take your team and escort Potter to the Ministry. Inform the boss of the situation. Now, Mr. Potter," he said, turning back to Harry. "According to the information I received prior to coming here, you cast three spells in quick succession-"

"Yes, I bloody did," Harry snapped. Honestly, he was through playing nice with the Ministry. "Might have had something to do with Fenrir Greyback attacking me."

The Auror sneered and touched the tip of Harry's wand with his own. _"Priori Incantato."_

Three ghostly images emerged. Harry wondered for a moment how the Auror identified random spellfire as specific spells. Perhaps some aspects of the reverse-spell effect were only observable by the caster.

"I'm tempted to go further," the Auror said, obviously tauting Harry, "but frankly, I'm not going to risk a reprimand because of you. We have what we wanted. _Finite."_

Then he grabbed the holly wand in both hands and unceremoniously snapped it in two.

~~oOo~~

Harry grimaced at the familiar young Auror who came in.

"You again," he said. "Your first big interrogation, eh? And you landed me. I do believe congratulations are in order."

Harry didn't care about being cooperative at that point. That ship had sailed when they snapped his wand.

Dell Grayson sat down opposite from him and placed a file on the table.

"Yes, that seems familiar," Harry went on. "I was in a very similar situation a few days ago. As I recall, it didn't go very well for you guys, did it?"

In a display of professionalism, Grayson ignored his comments, refusing to take the bait.

"Mr. Potter," he began, "you've been apprehended today, along with Mr. Remus Lupin, following your breaking the Decree for Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery-"

"I know that," Harry interrupted. "Are you going to ask the questions or keep quoting the law for me?"

Grayson cleared his throat. "There is no need for hostility, Mr. Potter. We are only trying to understand-"

"Right," Harry interrupted the Auror again. "Then why was I arrested in the first place? Do you even care that you have Greyback in custody? Or has he escaped already?"

Grayson's gaze hardened. "Mr. Potter," he said, raising his voice just a notch. "Rest assured we are going to get to the bottom of this. Part of that process is your interrogation."

"Are you hoping for a promotion too?" Harry asked. "The last guy who interrogated me got bumped to Head Auror. _After_ I won the trial. Apparently the Minister is promoting people for failing now."

It wasn't a fair thing to say. The circumstances behind Kingsley's promotion had been more complicated than that.

The Auror took a calming breath and tried again.

"Let's start with the obvious – why were you in the Shrieking Shack?"

Harry leaned over the table. "I was conspiring with Fenrir Greyback to instigate a werewolf revolt against the Ministry."

Grayson, looking alarmed, grabbed at the file, but Harry slapped his hand over his wrist.

"How gullible can you get?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "And you're supposed to uphold the law in this country. Merlin..."

"Mr. Potter. I am asking you to take this seriously. Otherwise I will assume you've confessed to a criminal activity and you will stand trial."

Harry slammed his hand on the table.

"Fine," he growled. "There I was, meeting with a friend and Greyback comes out of nowhere. What was I supposed to do? Let myself be torn limb from limb?"

"So..." Grayson opened the file, scanning it quickly. "Why the Shrieking Shack? It's an unusual place to meet with friends."

Harry snorted. "It's not nearly as haunted as people think."

"Why did you meet?"

"None of your business," Harry snapped.

"Fair enough," Grayson said, turning a page in the file. "I'm assuming you and Mr. Lupin were talking when Greyback appeared. How did he get in?"

"Through. The. Door," Harry said very slowly.

"A wand was found on Greyback," Grayson said. "Why wouldn't he use it?"

"As far as I know, Greyback isn't feared for his dueling skills. He's fast, he had the element of surprise. This could've gone either way."

"It's interesting that Fenrir Greyback just stumbled upon you and Mr. Lupin, who is a werewolf himself-"

"And what does his being a werewolf have anything to do with this?" Harry demanded. "Not to be vain, but I don't think Greyback was there for Remus."

"So you think he was after you? Why?"

Harry shrugged. "Because he works for Voldemort."

Grayson flinched at the mention of the Dark Lord's name.

"Mr. Potter," he said and went silent for a long moment. "Why is it your belief that You-Know-Who is again operating in Britain?"

Harry stared at the rookie Auror unblinkingly. "Somehow, I doubt your superiors told you to ask me that."

~~oOo~~

Scrimgeour maintained his usual, cool facade, although with great difficulty.

"Cornelius," he said, "can you imagine how this is going to reflect on the entire Departmnent? On _me?"_

"I don't know what you mean, Rufus," the Minister replied. "Potter clearly broke the law and was discovered at the scene with two werewolves! If that doesn't warrant an investigation..."

"Of course it does," Scrimgeour agreed, "but your approach is wrong. Not to mention you're usurping my Department to play your games."

"I have the authority to oversee an investigation if-"

"Which does nothing to change the fact that you're wrong," Scrimgeour interrupted. "Innocent until proven guilty, Cornelius. You're trying to intimidate Potter with the same charges you laid against him four days ago. He didn't seem scared then. What makes you think it'll work this time?"

"Enough, Rufus," the Minister said. "I understand you're concerned about your Department and your dedication is admirable, but Harry Potter is a problem that needs to be resolved."

"Cornelius-"

"And I will see it resolved."

~~oOo~~

Moments after Grayson asked his unexpected question, another Auror burst in and glared at the younger man until the silent order was conveyed. Grayson scrambled to leave while the other Auror took his place and proceeded with a boring questioning, the kind Harry suspected had to be standard fare.

He steadfastly declined to give any details when asked about anything other than the bare basics. If he was right, Remus was being interviewed as well and the less details either one of them made up, the better their answers would resonate.

This time, he didn't have the patience to sit calmly and wait for what would come next. Things were going so well until Greyback decided to kick it up a notch. Of all the hotheaded idiots he could have chose, why did Malfoy have to bring him along? And what was Mulciber's angle? He played along in Shack when Harry pretended he didn't know him. Well, he didn't, really, but Mulciber gave no indication that they'd met. Was their encounter In Godric's Hollow really just and accident?

He seemed strange for a Death Eater.

And now, he was probably being kept somewhere with Malfoy and Merlin knows what Tonks was doing. The ideal course of action would be to get out of here, pin the whole thing on Greyback and hope that Voldemort would still agree to meet. Harry would come back to the Ministry later to sort out this new mess if needed. He just couldn't afford to be stuck here right now.

It had been more than an hour, by his estimation, since his interrogator had left.

He paced around the small room, making sure not to mumble anything. They had to be recording everything that was happening inside.

After a while pacing became boring, so he turned to outright vandalism.

The furniture was made of wood – it was easy enough to smash the chair against the wall and upturn the table. He dispensed several kicks but only succeeded in developing a pulsating pain in his foot, so he stopped, even more irritated than before.

They'd broken his wand. _His wand._

He had been without his wand before, but this was a whole new kind of helpless.

When the door opened, he was willing to brawl with Greyback if it got him out of the Ministry.

"Mr. Potter, my-"

The wizard who entered ducked even as he flicked his wand. A broken-off chair leg was magically batted away into the opposite wall.

"Let me begin by saying that I understand your frustration."

Harry glared at him. "I'm not even going to grace that with an answer," he spat.

The wizard looked to be about Crouch's age and carried himself with a dignity someone like Fudge could never hope to emulate.

"Who are you, anyway?" Harry asked.

"My name is Rufus Scrimgeour," the man said, bowing his head almost imperceptibly. "Until recently, I was the Head Auror."

"So you're the new Director," Harry concluded. "I want the name of the Auror that snapped my wand, if you would."

"For what purpose?" Scrimgeour asked.

"I don't know yet. I'll think of something later."

"That Auror was well within the law, Mr. Potter. By all rights your wand should have been snapped several days ago, on your second offense."

"I thought we agreed that dementors' presence was an extenuating circumstance."

"It doesn't diminish the fact that you used magic outside of school."

"Don't play the stupid game with me," Harry snapped. "I was found guilty only of using questionable magic, nothing else."

"Circumstances were different this time."

"Were they? Let me think – the Statute? No. I was in Hogsmeade. No muggles for miles around. And I was in danger, unless I misinterpreted Greyback's intention to give me a big hug."

A smile broke Scrimgeour's serious expression for a moment, and disappeared.

"What I'm trying to say, Mr. Potter, is that my Aurors followed the procedure. The Decree for Reasonable Restrictions clearly states: the wand is to be destroyed at the scene in case of repeated violation of the law."

"Well, your law is flawed," Harry retorted.

To his surprise, Scrimgeour nodded. "I agree. But you must understand, Mr. Potter, there is a reason why every new law in this country gets extensive media coverage. In a society as small and traditional as ours, new laws are passed infrequently... and the old ones are resistant to change, even if a change is needed."

Harry frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"

"So that you understand," Scrimgeour said, waving his wand again and repairing the broken furniture. "Destruction of your wand was carried out lawfully. At the time, you were known to have used magic outside of Hogwarts."

"At the time?" Harry repeated. "That sounds positively ambiguous."

The Head Auror stepped aside, leaving the cell door open. "Innocent until proved guilty, Mr. Potter. If it is found out that you were in league with a wanted criminal, be sure we'll come knocking. At the moment, I have no reason to detain you any longer."

Harry's eyebrows rode up. "You're just letting me go?"

"And Mr. Lupin as well."

_Well, I better get going before he changes his mind._

As he was passing the other wizard, he felt long fingers on his shoulder.

"No everyone in the Ministry is against you, Potter," Scrimgeour said in a low tone. "But unless new proof is presented, status quo won't change."

Harry nodded in understanding and left the cell. Yet another Auror was waiting there to escort him out. Only when they were joined by Remus did he allow himself a smile.

_Maybe things aren't as bad as we thought. _

~~oOo~~

The apparition was chaotic, which resulted in a decidedly uncomfortable landing. Both he and Mulciber were dropped on the floor from three feet. He fell on his back, breath forced out of his lungs.

"Well," Mulciber grunted, "that didn't go as planned." Immediately, he yelped in pain when their captor kicked him in the ribs.

"Shut up," she snapped. "I hope you're proud of your man Greyback, Malfoy."

"What happened was not my intention," he replied. "I followed my orders. I am not responsible for the actions of a rabid dog."

"I don't really give a shit," the woman said and jabbed her wand at Jervis, knocking him out with a stunner.

"That is really not necessary-"

When he came to, there was one more person in the room and he wasn't bound by ropes anymore – though he still couldn't move.

"Lucius." Dumbledore tipped his hat for him. "Quite an unexpected meeting."

"Headmaster."

"Oh, there's no reason to be so formal," the elder wizard said. "It appears we have a bit of a nut to crack."

Lucius endured the following silence. If Dumbledore had something to say, he wasn't going to stop him.

"I'm sure you understand that at this point old Fenrir is beyond my reach. If Voldemort wants him back, he will have to get him back on his own."

"I wouldn't want to speculate," Lucius said. "My original orders no longer apply, it seems."

"I beg to differ," Dumbledore replied. "You will be let go. Expect an owl later today with the details. In fact, as a show of good faith, I shall up the offer." He pointed at Mulciber.

Mulciber sighed in a melodramatic fashion. "Look at me – reduced to a bargaining chip. How the mighty have fallen."

"Quite so," Dumbledore agreed. "You were one of the most promising students I've had, and that is not a compliment I pay often."

Mulciber said nothing, merely looked on, amused.

"Very well," Lucius said. "I will pass on your message to the Dark Lord."

"Excellent." Dumbledore flicked his wand and whatever paralysis spell was holding him in place was broken. He stood up, dusting himself off.

"May I... have my wand back?"

Dumbledore's smile was more unsettling than if he'd glared at him.

"I believe I'll hold onto it. No worries; I shall take good care of it until the exchange."

Lucius felt his stomach drop. This was just getting better and better.

"Now, there is just one more thing..."

~~oOo~~

Harry and Remus left via the visitors' entrance. Outside, Remus seized Harry by the shoulder and steered him into the nearest nook. He looked both ways to make sure no muggles were near.

"Were you awake the entire time, Harry?" he asked. "Did they have a chance to perhaps cast a spell on you? Feed you a potion?"

"I didn't drink whatever it was they gave me."

"Good. I doubt they would try something so obvious, but nevertheless... I'll check you for spells once we're out of here. Hold on."

Fifteen minutes and several apparitions later Harry felt as if he'd been eviscerated, but they were back at Grimmauld Place. Remus had found no traces of recent magic.

"At least nothing potent," he said. "If I missed something, it's too weak to go through the wards."

As expected, the Headquarters was a hive of activity. Dumbledore was leading a meeting in the kitchen when Harry and Remus came in.

"What a pleasant surprise," Dumbledore said first. "I have never felt more glad to have been useless."

"Actually, we can't really take credit in this case," Remus said. "We were released on Scrimgeour's orders. The power struggle in the Ministry is escalating."

Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Harry. Are you alright?"

"Fine," he answered. "Scrimgeour hinted we might be questioned about Greyback."

"More likely he wants to simply meet in private," Tonks piped up. "I got the impression he was shifty. If he's going against Fudge-"

"That's enough!" Mrs. Weasley protested. "He's just a boy! He doesn't need to hear this."

Harry's fists closed and relaxed in silent anger. There was no question who she was referring to.

"We can agree to disagree," he snapped.

She was about to scold him, no doubt, but Dumbledore interfered.

"We were not discussing anything sinister, Molly. No harm done. However..." He paused and looked back at Harry. "I must ask you to leave, Harry. I respect your accomplishments, but the Order has a strict 'adult only' policy."

"Will you have a moment afterwards?" Harry asked. "I want to talk to you."

Dumbledore gave him a significant look. "Of course. I'll find you as soon as we're finished here."

~~oOo~~

The Headmaster entered his room a few minutes later. Harry was just putting the letter to Lucius in an envelope.

"There's an old park on the outskirts of Little Whinging," he said. "I gave precise instructions in the letter. I set the time for midnight. It's unlikely anyone will be in the vicinity."

"Little Whinging?" Dumbledore repeated. "I'm not sure meeting so close to your home is a good idea, Harry."

"If Voldemort didn't find Privet Drive until now, I doubt it'll happen. He'll have other problems to deal with soon enough."

The Headmaster nodded. "I will trust your judgment. In the meantime, I believe you need to make one more short trip before the exchange."

"Are you referring to my regrettably wandless status?"

"Yes. If you don't mind, I shall escort you personally. Without a wand, you are quite defenseless, I'm afraid."

As they were leaving the library, Harry noticed Ginny sitting on the stairs. She was watching him with that new intense gaze of hers.

"Professor... do you mind waiting for me outside? I'll be there in a minute."

He didn't doubt Dumbledore noticed his reaction to Ginny's presence and was all the more grateful that he chose not to comment. The Headmaster swept past him and he walked up to Ginny.

"You _are_ stalking me."

"I am... interested," she replied.

"I am too," he said. "But by Merlin's pants, I have no idea where it's coming from."

"It's mutual attraction, Harry," Ginny said. "One of those things that don't have a logical explanation."

"You seem very well informed. I'm older than you and I don't know any of this stuff. Are you just making it up as you go along?"

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe no."

Harry held out a hand and Ginny took it. He pulled her to her feet and for a moment they were closer than they had ever been before. Then she stepped around him and was gone. Stunned, he looked around after a moment, but she was nowhere in sight. What was going on with that girl? More importantly, what was going on with him?

He discarded those thoughts. Dumbledore was waiting for him.

In Ollivander's shop, Harry witnessed what must have been one of the strangest staring matches ever to take place. It only lasted several seconds, but the tension was obvious. Two of the most... unique wizards he knew stared at each other without a word and then Ollivander suddenly turned his piercing gaze at him.

"There is something different about you, Mr. Potter."

"Well, I'm taller."

"No," the wandmaker said. "Not that. Not on the surface. Somewhere... deeper."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "You are the expert here, but may I suggest something in yew, perhaps?"

Harry grimaced. "I hoped at least now I'd have a wand that had nothing to do with Voldemort's."

Ollivander's eyes widened in realization. "Ah... I see. And I think... dragon, yes?"

"It seems reasonable," Dumbledore agreed.

Ollivander came back, carrying a long wand.

"Twelve inches," he said, handing it to Harry, "Yew. Dragon's heartstring. And I think more than a simple wave this time."

"Won't this alert the Ministry? I'd rather not be arrested buying a wand."

"My shop is off-limits to the Ministry, Mr. Potter. And they must know you would want to replace your wand, yes?" Ollivander said. "What are you waiting for? Cast a spell!"

Harry raised the wand. "What dragon?" he asked suddenly.

The wandmaker's face was a mask. "Hungarian Horntail," he said.

Harry's head snapped around so quickly that for a moment He thought something broke in his neck.

He stared at Ollivander and he stared back. Harry had no idea _how_, but he was sure that Ollivander was telling him, without words, that this wasn't a coincidence.

"This feels strangely like a setup," Harry muttered. Then something occured to him.

_Dragon... Do they want me to do something specific? _

He waved the wand around.

_"Incendio!"_

With control born of hours spent practicing for the Tournament last year, he guided the flame in a spiral, letting it approach the flammable furnishings of the wandmaker's shop, but not close enough to actually set something on fire. He smiled unknownigly, seeing the element obey him. He could cast Fiendfyre, some practice and he would control it as easily as this...

The fire was suddenly doused out. Harry glanced at the wand and then looked back up to see Ollivander tucking his wand away. He gave an appreciative nod.

"A good match, I think."

~~oOo~~

It was approaching midnight and an uncharacteristic chill had set over Little Whinging. Dark clouds sped across the night sky, pulled along by a howling wind. On the flat stretch of land where Harry, Dumbledore and Moody were waiting, the cold was further magnified.

Harry stood with his new wand in one hand and the prophecy in the other. Bored, he was throwing the orb into the air and catching it as they waited. Dumbledore and Moody were with him, standing slightly behind, at his request. He wanted to make this meeting a statement.

If Voldemort wanted a war, then a war he would get.

Harry would do whatever was needed to even the odds. Both Dumbledore and Moody had agreed to train him. He'd already received his first lesson from Mad-Eye this afternoon. It was a harsh learning expierince - he didn't even last a minute against the ex-Auror. Moody had him disarmed and bound in thirty seconds and Harry had a feeling the man had been holding back.

He could more than hold his own against his peers, but he wouldn't be fighting Hogwarts students in this conflict, but adult witches and wizards. If just half of what Moody had told him was accurate, he would need to use everything he had to stand a chance against opponents like Lucius Malfoy or Jervis Mulciber.

Speaking of Mulciber: the Death Eater wasn't here with them. He was under guard, with Tonks and Remus watching him. Dumbledore would activate the portkey remotely an bring Mulciber here once they were sure Voldemort would honor the agreement.

The last minutes to midnight ticked away and their waiting came to an end.

A small group appeared some fifty feet away, facing them. Voldemort was at the front, flanked by two Death Eaters. Sirius was next to the Dark Lord. His hands seemed to be tied behind his back, but he looked fine otherwise. Harry couldn't hold back a smile at the sight of his godfather, which Sirius returned.

"Harry," Voldemort said, his voice smooth like silk. "Albus. Alastor." He greeted all of them like old friends. Harry decided to return the greeting.

"Tom," he said with a nod. "I could say it's good to see you again, but we both know it would be a lie."

Voldemort seemed to acknowledge the use of his name as a fair retort.

"I see you have brought the prophecy... but not Mulciber."

Harry smiled. "Assumptions can be dangerous, Tom. We agreed to trade Sirius for the prophecy. I didn't write in the letter that Mulciber was part of the bargain. If Lucius has told you otherwise, I apologize – he must have misunderstood the message."

Voldemort smiled back. His skin wrinkled grotesquely, like wax.

"Very clever, Harry," he said. "I assume you have another proposal, then."

"How about Pettigrew?" Harry asked lightly, tilting his head to one side. "One man for another. A fair exchange, wouldn't you say? In fact, you might come out better off. Mulciber certainly makes an impression. I suspect he's more valuable to you than Peter."

Hearing what sounded like an honest laugh out of Voldemort definitely ranked among Harry's strangest experiences.

"You may not believe this, but sometimes I find myself wishing we weren't on the opposite sides in this war," the Dark Lord said.

"Yes, what a pity," Harry retorted. "The Boy Who Lived and the Heir of Slytherin. Imagine the parties we could throw together!"

"An alluring possibility," Voldemort said. "But as entertaining as this is, there are other matters that demand my attention. And I'm sure you know I cannot give you Wormtail. It is not in my nature to aid my enemies."

"Then I think I'll hold on to Mulciber for a while, until you come up with a counter-offer."

Harry clenched his fingers tightly around the wand and the prophecy. He had to rest the orb against his thigh because it was slipping from his sweaty palm.

Voldemort showed the first sign of displeasure.

"Don't take my courtesy for weakness, Harry," Voldemort said, his voice suddenly colder than ice. "You want your godfather alive more than I want the prophecy. There are other ways for me to obtain it, as your Headmaster knows, and you would do well to take that to heart."

Dumbledore placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry glanced at him and swallowed loudly.

"Alright," he said turning back to Voldemort. "Mulciber and the prophecy for Sirius and his wand, intact." This was proving to be more nerve-wracking than he'd expected.

"Very well," the Dark Lord agreed. "Bring Mulciber."

Dumbledore didn't seem to move or say anything, but he must have done something because a few seconds later Mulciber was next to Harry, on his feet, but with his hands bound.

One of the Death Eaters disapparated and returned after a few excruciantingly long minutes carrying what had to be Sirius' wand and handed it to Voldemort, who in turn gave it to Sirius after releasing him from his bonds. Mirroring Voldemort, Harry untied the knot on Mulciber's wrists and, after a moment of hesitation, handed him the prophecy.

"Walk. Slowly," he told him.

"It's been a pleasure, Harry," the Death Eater said. "I'm sure we'll meet again."

Don't you just _love_ cliffhangers? ;)


End file.
